


365 Days of Johnlock (with Mystrade and Anthooper)

by ThatWeirdFangirl



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Arguing, Author has given up tagging because there are so many things. Just read it and find out., BAMF Anthea, Birthday Presents, Blind Date, Caring John, Cell Phones, Cuddling & Snuggling, Drabble Collection, Drowning, Drugs, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, Feelings, First Kiss, First Meetings, Fluff, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Manipulative Sherlock, Minor Violence, Mystrade gets an unexpected call..., Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parentlock, Pillow Talk, Sad, Sherlock is a Maid, Smut, Spiders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-04 21:48:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 232
Words: 124,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3091694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatWeirdFangirl/pseuds/ThatWeirdFangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A drabble-a-day, everyday. The situations and settings vary, but they almost always include the World's Only Consulting Detective and his faithful blogger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hypothermia (Johnlock)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [365 Days of Mystrade](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1278532) by [CommunionNimrod](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CommunionNimrod/pseuds/CommunionNimrod), [Copgirl1964](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Copgirl1964/pseuds/Copgirl1964), [GooberFeesh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GooberFeesh/pseuds/GooberFeesh). 



> This is going to be a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it. 
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is not beta'd or brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy. :)

John Watson had been out searching for hours. The London night was the coldest this year, but he wasn’t going to give up hope. 

Sherlock Holmes had called him about a case. John had heard the attack and then splashing in the water. Sherlock was somewhere in the Thames and he was not going to stop searching until his flatmate was safe and at 221B Baker Street. 

Greg had the Yard on boats, and Mycroft was searching by air and trying to pinpoint a general area. John was on foot and by himself, scanning the banks of the Thames. 

He had been walking towards the East End when he saw the coat. It was floating in the water and John couldn’t stop himself. He jumped from the dock and into the freezing waters of the Thames. 

His detective was not in the coat, however. No, but John was in freezing water and he struggled to keep his head above it. 

“I have to find him,” he repeated in his head. “I never told him.”

He swam to the bank, the coat in his arms. God, he was cold, but he continued. He called the detective’s name and listened for responses, but none came. 

After nearly an hour of searching in his soaked clothing, John received the call. He was thankful for the small miracle of Sherlock making his mobile waterproof. Greg had found him and they were on their way to the hospital. John caught a cab as quickly as he could.

Greg Lestrade met him at the door. 

“John, you need to get warm. You’re fingers are practically blue. We had some spare clothes...” The inspector tried to make the man sit, but John met the man’s brown eyes.

“Please, I have to see him before anything else. Just let me see him.” The doctor’s eyes were pleading and desperate, and the Inspector had no other choice. He was exhausted and experiencing hypothermia and shock, but he did not care as Greg led him through the hospital corridors. They stopped in front of a room that held two guards. Greg waited outside as John entered. 

The detective was still shivering. His curls were wet and is heart rate was low. His eyelids fluttered as John entered the room. Sherlock was barely conscious, but he would stay awake for John. 

“You are bloody mental,” John smiled at the detective. “You leave, nearly give me a heart attack, and get yourself thrown into the Thames. If you’re going to do that…” John took a breath and let it out slowly, in a whisper, “you had better make damn sure that I am with you.”

“Sorry,” Sherlock mumbled. “Are you here to berate me?”

John grinned at the detective and took his hand, noticing that both of their fingers were tinged blue. “I realized something while I was searching for you. I think I’m in love with you. I just thought you should know, in case one of us dies within the next few minutes. But, we can talk about this later. You need to rest.”

“And you say I’m insane.” Sherlock smirked as John leaned towards him and kissed his forehead. The two of them were both delirious and smiling. 

John stood as Sherlock closed his eyes and left the room. As soon as he closed the door behind him, the doctor collapsed into the arms of a suspecting Detective Inspector as the exhaustion and shock overwhelmed him. 

A smile was still on his face as he drifted into the darkness.


	2. The Phone or Me      (Johnlock) (Mystrade)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock feels neglected and devises a plan...
> 
> I am warning you now: NSFW
> 
> Enjoy. ;)

John’s mobile beeped for the fortieth time that day, or so it seemed to Sherlock. His partner, in both senses of the word, had recently gotten a smartphone, and Sherlock was less than thrilled. So what if he had accidentally caused the doctor’s mobile to explode in the microwave. He couldn’t help it; things happened. 

Exploding mobiles were no excuse to ignore Sherlock for two days. Two whole days. Sure, he had made tea and dinner and had gone to the clinic, but still...

The doctor had taken to playing games that didn’t even follow the rules of physics. There was no way that a bird could fly with the simple tap of a finger. And the idea of “tweeting” was completely absurd. 

But most of all, Sherlock was horny. So he devised a plan. 

John was sitting in his chair, playing an adventure game. Sherlock carefully and quietly moved from his place on the sofa to stand in front of John. As the man finished the level, Sherlock plucked the phone from the doctor’s hands and placed it in his pocket. 

“Sherlock, give me my phone. I will not let you destroy this one.” John narrowed his eyes as they flashed to Sherlock’s face. Sherlock smirked and moved closer to the doctor.

“Sherlock, what-” 

The detective then kissed the doctor roughly as he moved to straddle the man. Sherlock ground his hips into the doctor’s as he moved to kiss John’s neck. He nipped and licked along the man’s collar bone and finally back to his ear. The doctor’s breathing was ragged and his pupils were blown wide. Both men had very evident arousals, but Sherlock stopped everything as he whispered his demands into John’s ear. 

“It’s the phone or me. You agree to get a new phone tomorrow, one that is not capable of these stupid games, and I will take you to bed right now and make this the best night of our relationship so far. If you do not, I call my brother and stay with him until you come to your senses. Am I clear?” Sherlock disentangled himself from John and stood in front of the man.

“Aren’t you being a bit unreasonable?” As John started, Sherlock pulled the phone from his pocket and began dialing a number. 

“I mean, Sherlock, this could be very beneficial to cases.” Sherlock pressed the call button and let it ring. He placed his other hand on John’s thigh and ran his fingers higher and higher, only to stop before he reached John’s groin. 

“Fine, you win.” John grasped the detective’s purple shirt and pulled him into a passionate kiss. Sherlock dropped the phone and sighed into the kiss. But, this caused Sherlock to lose his balance and they both tumbled to the floor. 

John now straddled the detective and quickly tried to unbutton the man’s purple shirt. Gosh he loved this man so much. He kissed a straight line down Sherlock’s chest, where he undid Sherlock’s zipper with his teeth. 

Sherlock writhed underneath the man and the sounds he made were absolutely scandalous. “Where did you-” The detective was practically panting and unable to speak in complete sentences. 

“Army. Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are when you are being manipulative?” John smiled as he removed Sherlock’s trousers. His pants already had a few dark stains from his precome, so the doctor quickly got to work. 

“Only you John,” Sherlock moaned as John pulled down his pants and licked a stripe up the detective’s already leaking cock. He took Sherlock’s cock in his mouth until the man was just a writhing mass. 

“Oh John, I love you,” Pleasure coursed through the detective’s body and all of his tension released at once into John’s mouth. 

“I love you too, Sherlock.” The doctor smiled as he pulled away. “I guess I have been ignoring you. That was to apologize. And I’ll change my phone in the morning.”

“If you didn’t play as many games, I suppose that would be alright…” Sherlock mumbled as John kissed him. He felt John’s arousal through the doctor’s trousers and knew he had to be suffering. “Now, do you want to take care of that in the bedroom?” 

“Oh god yes…” John kissed Sherlock and they practically ran to the bedroom, ready to continue their long night.

***

Mycroft Holmes had just climbed into bed and was scribbling a few notes on a scrap piece of paper when his mobile rang. It was John, so he quickly answered.

“Hello?” He asked. 

“Who is it?” Gregory Lestrade asked from the doorway to the bathroom. He had just finished a shower and was getting ready for bed. 

“John,” Mycroft mouthed. 

On the other line, he heard the moaning of his brother. And he definitely wasn’t in pain. Gregory climbed into the bed beside the politician and listened as Mycroft put the phone on speaker. The inspector's mouth dropped in shock, but was quickly replaced by a grin. He had known they were dating, but not to this extent. He thought that it would have taken years for them to resolve the sexual tension between them. In any case, he was happy for them. 

“Gregory, dear, do you remember that bet that we made a few months ago?” Mycroft smiled as he ended the call and set everything on his bedside table. “I do believe that I have one. Time to pay, love.” 

Greg smiled at Mycroft and kissed the younger man. “You are always right, aren’t you? I love that about you.”

“Yes, I am.” Mycroft huddled closer into the man’s embrace, and he was content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is not beta'd or brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	3. At The Pub            (Anthooper)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is a small ship, but I will go down with it. 
> 
> Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you: Anthooper.
> 
> (If the ship name is wrong, please tell me. I don't know what else to call it...)

Molly finally spotted Sherlock's curly hair as she searched the crowded pub. He had texted her, saying that the matter was urgent and that she needed to meet them at the local pub when her shift ended.

She had rushed out of the morgue, forgetting to remove her goggles, and caught a cab. 

As she approached the booth, she realized that he was not alone. Packed into the small booth were John, Greg, Mycroft, Sherlock, and a woman she had never met. She sat beside John, who was sitting across from Sherlock. He sat between Mycroft and the woman and looked rather uncomfortable.

Molly herself felt uncomfortable. She sat with two exes and her current crush. To make things more awkward, her current boyfriend had left her that week because she worked too much. She did not want to be social, to say the least.

"So nice of you to join us, Miss Hooper,” Sherlock said as she motioned to question him about the message. 

John then took the reins of the conversation before Sherlock said anything offensive. “We were having a little party, and we thought you might enjoy a nice night. You know Mycroft and Greg. This is Anthea. She’s Mycroft’s assistant.”

The young woman huffed, but she smiled warmly at Molly. She had dark brown hair and kind, pale eyes and, to Molly, looked as if she had just arrived from a Paris fashion show. Both girls were instantly smitten.

The conversation flowed freely. Greg and John watched and commented on the game, whereas Mycroft and Sherlock bickered with each other, only to stop when their partners began throwing straw wrappers at them. Molly and Anthea were in their own world of conversation.

When Molly left to go to the bathroom and Anthea went to take a call, John kicked Sherlock under the table and glared at him. 

“Why did you bring Molly here? Her boyfriend left her. Greg and I are her ex-boyfriends. She is still head-over-heels for you. You’re going to make her feel worse.” John talked in a hushed tone and Greg sided with him. The Holmes boys, however, simply exchanged glances and smirked at their boyfriends. 

“Did we miss something, Greg?” John sighed and continued to watching the game. 

Molly and Anthea soon returned, and Sherlock whispered something in the assistant’s ear. She nodded and turned her attention to Molly. “Sherlock says you enjoy dancing. Care to have a dance with me?” 

The assistant stood, smoothing her skirt as she helped the scientist to her feet. Molly’s face was flushed a rosy pink from embarrassment and anxiety, but she let the woman lead her to the pub’s small dance floor. 

A slow song began playing and the two girls swayed together, brown eyes meeting hazel. 

“I would like to see you again,” Anthea whispered into the girl’s ear. “You are...intriguing. And you are far less boring than my boss. You are also far more beautiful.” She gestured at the table of men, noticing that Sherlock and Mycroft were watching intently. She flashed them a wink as she twirled the scientist and pulled her even closer.

Molly blushed and looped her arms around Anthea’s neck, resting her head on the woman’s shoulder. “I would like that very much.” She smiled to herself, feeling a surge of happiness run through her that she hadn’t experienced in years. 

“I…” The song ended, and Molly moved to go back to the table, only managing “accidentally” to trip over her own feet, although, other sources may claim that Anthea’s shoe tripped the scientist. In either case, Anthea caught the woman by the waist and used the momentum to carry them into a dip, where she brought their lips together softly.

Molly’s heart raced as they separated, her breathing ragged. It was just a kiss! Still, she smiled as she felt the woman’s arm around her waist.  
She definitely wanted to do that again. 

***

Sherlock’s smirk grew as he and Mycroft watched the scene on the dance floor unfold.

“If she kisses her, you owe me a case,” Sherlock hissed at Mycroft as Anthea winked at them. “You have to admit, they would be nice for each other.”

“Yes, but you know how people tend to lose interest, dear brother. If she offers to drive her home, you must go to Mother’s birthday party.” Mycroft whispered. 

“Oh, our dear Anthea has more charm than the two of us. Plus, Molly has been attracted to me for all of these years. Anthea is practically a female version of me, one who will reciprocate her sentiment. Oh, she complimented her and insulted you at the same time. I approve.” Sherlock sighed as John and Greg finally started listening to their conversation. 

All of the men watched the women as the song ended. They saw Molly trip, only to be caught by the woman. As the two kissed, Mycroft sighed, “Fine, I’ll have a case to you tomorrow.”

Sherlock smiled, happy that he was right and happy that Molly would not be chasing after someone unattainable any longer. Sherlock had John, and Molly had Anthea. Then there was Greg and Mycroft, but that was a different story altogether.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is not beta'd or brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	4. By His Side (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Johnlock fluff with a bit of angst is on today's menu. 
> 
> Enjoy.

Sherlock had been awake for 72 hours. The lack of sleep did not bother him as he worked the high profile case. All he needed was tea, adrenaline, and, of course, John. 

The high-profile case had been taxing for the both of them. The murders seemed random, and the Yard was pressuring him to close the case. The two had spent the previous two days looking for connections to one of the suspects and the previous twelve hours chasing the man through the streets of London.

The case finally ended with the suspect pulling a knife on the two and John tackling him. The two waited for the Yard to arrive and Greg then forced the exhausted pair to give statements and fill out papers, a process that endured for at least three hours. The sunlight was bright when they finished.

The doctor knew how exhausted the detective was. Sherlock had a blank stare and swayed slightly where he stood. His energy was so depleted that he neglected to insult Anderson at two available openings. 

As soon as the Yard was done, John ushered the detective into a cab. They settled into their seats, and soon John found a mop of black curls on his shoulder. 

"John, the light..." The tall man whimpered as he tried to cover his eyes. He always got migraines when he didn't sleep for long periods of time; his body became overly sensitive. 

"Shh...we'll be there soon. I have you, Sherlock." The doctor whispered to the man as he draped his jacket over his head. It was something, at least. The detective continued to whimper, but calmed slightly as John ran his hand along his shoulders. 

John paid the driver as they arrived and lifted the detective into his arms, carrying the man into the flat and up the stairs. The man was surprisingly light, but John made him stand so he could unlock the door. 

Upon entering, the doctor closed all of the curtains and found a few Paracetamol tablets. He forced the detective to drink a glass of water and helped the man out of his clothes and into bed. 

"Sherlock, do you need anything else?" He whispered as he moved to leave the room. 

The detective was quiet for a moment, seeming a bit apprehensive. "Could you stay with me? What you did in the cab helped." 

John smiled at the detective's excuse; he knew that Sherlock felt vulnerable during his migraines and he was honored that the man trusted him. 

He removed his trousers and shirt, choosing to change into his night clothes when Sherlock was sleeping soundly, and climbed into Sherlock's bed.  
The detective curled into the man's bare chest and breathed a sigh of relief as the soldier's arms encircled him. He was safe and warm and drifted off to sleep quickly as John ran his hands lightly along his back. 

John kissed the detective's forehead when his breathing had slowed and admired the man. Sherlock was beautiful and insane and sexy and adorable. If only Sherlock felt the same. 

As long as he could be this, whatever he was, to Sherlock, John didn't care if his feelings were reciprocated. As long as he was by Sherlock's side, John didn't care what he was. 

By his side was good enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is not beta'd or brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	5. In His Arms (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A continuation of yesterday's events...
> 
> I would like to thank lion_62 for the inspiration and encouragement for this chapter and for the series. 
> 
> Enjoy. :)

Sherlock’s head throbbed as he leaned onto John’s shoulder in the cab. The sunlight and noise of the traffic around him sent sharp pains through his head. His eyes burned and he wanted to sleep. But the noises and light would not let him. He couldn’t concentrate. He whimpered from frustration and pain.

Suddenly, Sherlock felt the man beside him shift, and a jacket covered his head. He was separated from the light and surrounded by the scent of John. He relaxed slightly; John had a calming effect on him. 

When the cab stopped, John lifted him and carried him into the flat. The sharp pains had subsided, but a dull ache still clouded his thoughts. The events blurred as John helped him into bed, knowing just how to care for him.

John always cared for him, didn’t he? He always made sure that he ate, that he slept, that he was well and protected. John comforted him and made sure he wasn’t too rude. He did the laundry and cleaned and cooked and paid the bills and did the mundane things that Sherlock had neglected to learn. 

John was the solution to so many problems that Sherlock had faced. But John was causing a bit of trouble of his own. 

Sherlock had been having the same dream for weeks, where he would tell John that he loved him and then John would reject him. The dream occurred in different scenarios, at restaurants, on cases, but they always held the image of John leaving Sherlock.

He tried to avoid sleeping, to avoid the nightmare, but his transport grew more and more exhausted and he could only hope for an empty, dreamless sleep. 

He was nervous and anxious of his dreams as John started to leave. John had asked him if he needed anything. He needed John, needed him to stay by his side forever. He mumbled something about the man being calming and, with a smile, the doctor had climbed into his bed and allowed the detective to curl up to him. 

Sherlock relaxed into the doctor’s touch and, after a few minutes of controlling his breathing to slow his rapidly beating heart, Sherlock felt lips pressed to his forehead. The sensation felt nice. He shifted closer to John and felt the man hold his breath.

“John,” He whispered as he found the doctor’s hand. “You aren’t going to leave, right?”

“Why would I leave, Sherlock? I’m quite warm and the rest of the flat is freezing. Go to sleep.” John pulled his lips from the detective’s forehead. His heart rate had increased slightly, Sherlock noticed, when he had entwined his fingers with the doctor’s.

“”That’s not what I mean, John.” Sherlock sighed. 

They were both silent for several minutes. Sherlock had resigned himself to go back to sleep when John whispered, “I am never going to leave you. Not unless you want me to.” He pulled the man tighter to him. 

Sherlock’s heart nearly skipped a beat. “Even if I say something that might be a bit not good?”

“Sherlock. How many years have we been living together? How many times have you drugged me? Almost gotten us killed? Said things that would make the regular person leave on the spot? Far too many times. But I am still here. If you are thinking of getting rid of me, you have your work cut out for you. Now, what is bothering you?”

John’s words inspired Sherlock, allowed him to hope. “John, I-I think I love you.” His voice was just a whisper, but John breathed a sigh of relief and grinned at him. 

“And I love you too.” John kissed the man on the forehead and squeezed his hand. “Now, we are both exhausted, so I suggest we get some sleep and talk about these things when we wake up, if that is okay.”

Sherlock nodded as he hugged John as close as he could. 

“I’m glad.” He whispered as he drifted off to sleep. He heard John mumble something similar. 

The detective smiled as the exhaustion overcame him and he knew that his nightmare would be replaced with dreams of John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is not beta'd or brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	6. Mirabelle (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of Parentlock for today. :)

John heard the soft sound of music as he entered the building. His day had been long; a child had been hit by a car and he had spent five hours trying to get her stabilized. She was in rough shape, but she would make it. Her father had been a mess. He was panicking as he tried to call his husband, only to find that his phone was off for a meeting. John had calmed the man, assuring him that everything would be alright.

The husband had rushed into the hospital just as his shift was ending and the man ran to the other man’s arms and they simply embraced. They clearly loved each other and their child.

John wondered as he climbed the stairs how Sherlock would be as a father. He smiled to himself as he imagined a tiny genius running around the flat, exploding things in the microwave and arguing with John about how “unnecessary” sleep was. Gosh, another Sherlock would be…

John opened the door to see Sherlock, sitting in his chair, watching the contents of a baby carrier that sat in John’s chair. He played the violin softly as he watched the sleeping child. 

Sherlock jumped as John entered the flat, causing him to strike a sharp note on the instrument. The resounding screech was then followed by a high-pitched cry from the carrier.

“Sherlock, why do you have a baby in the flat?” John asked as he moved to lifted the child. “Where did you find a baby?”

“It was on the doorstep. Can I keep it, John? I was examining the effects of music on infantile sleeping patterns.” Sherlock set his violin in the case and moved to kiss John’s cheek. He looked at him with large, puppy-dog eyes. 

“No Sherlock. We need to find its mother.” The child had stopped crying as John slowly rocked it. The child was roughly three months old and had big blue eyes that stared openly at John. John sat with the infant on the couch and stroked its head until it fell asleep.

“But John, someone left her. And I’ve already named her. And I changed her diaper.” John did not want to know how Sherlock had changed her diaper, but he sighed resignedly. 

“We will report it to the Yard. She can stay with us until we find her parents. What did you name her? We will need to get things to care for her. You are lucky that I have a license to foster children.” John’s mind was racing as he made a mental note of everything they would need.

“Her name is Mirabelle Hamish Holmes-Watson. Mirabelle was my grandmother’s name and we can call her Mira.”

John chuckled at the use of his middle name and smiled at the small child in his arms. “Hello Mira. It seems you’ll be living with us for a while. I’m John and that insane man is Sherlock Holmes. We’re going to make sure that you are loved, wherever you may be. It isn’t going to be easy, but we’ll try.”

Sherlock grinned at his boyfriend and went around the chair to rest his chin on the doctor’s head. He kissed his temple and glanced affectionately at the sleeping child. 

She had already stolen their hearts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is not beta'd or brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	7. Always There (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John gets kidnapped...
> 
> Warning: minor references to drugs and violence
> 
> Enjoy. :)

John’s hand were tied behind his back and his shoulder and legs throbbed. His face was pressed against the cold concrete of a warehouse on the outskirts of London. One eye was swollen shut and he felt a burning pain in his head; he would need stitches. 

He had been walking home from work, speaking to Sherlock on his cell, when something hit him over the head. He had awoken in the brute arms of a Russian mobster who had been dragging him into the warehouse by his shirt. When John had tried to say something, the man had punched him in the face and John decided to keep quiet. 

As far as John could tell, the mobsters made no move for ransom; they simply argued as to what to do with John. They were clearly unintelligent. John hoped that Sherlock or Mycroft would find him soon; his shoulder had gone stiff and the blood loss was making him lightheaded. 

One of the men finally approached John. “You’re a short little fella, aren’t you?” His accent was muddled and John couldn’t place it. Maybe Romanian or Greek? John was analyzing the man for any clues when the man jerk him to his feet. “So, you are dating the detective man, yes? Well, it seems he does not want to save you. I think we need to heighten the danger so your boyfriend will give us what we want.”

John saw the mobster pull out a syringe and a vial. He watched him, rather inefficiently, try to put the substance in the syringe. If his syringe techniques were any gauge of the man’s medical skill, John feared for when the man would administer the drug. 

Despite the grave circumstances, he couldn’t help but chuckle. The last thing he saw was a boot aiming for his good eye. 

***

He dreamed of Sherlock. He always dreamed of Sherlock now. In his dream, he could feel Sherlock holding his hand, telling him that everything would be alright, that he was going to save the day and save John. In his dream, Sherlock held him and tried to comfort him as the pain threatened to pull him from dream. He could practically feel the man’s lips on his forehead, something Sherlock had taken to doing recently. 

“I love you,” said dream Sherlock. “And you can do this. Just wait for me to get there.”

“I love you too…” John whispered as he was ripped from his dream.

***

There was a sharp pain in his arm and his mind was clouded. There were sounds all around him that felt like knives digging into his skull. What light he could see burned and he tried to curl into a ball, but he could not move his limbs. He had no energy. He fought the darkness that threatened to surround him, but the pain was too great.

He felt someone grabbing his arms and he tried to thrash, thinking that the mobster was back to cause more trouble. He then felt lips on his forehead and thin arms around his shoulders. 

“Sherlock?” He whispered as he tried to find the man to ensure that he was actually there. 

“Shh… I’m here. We are going to fix this. The worst is over now. Go to sleep. I’ll be here when you awaken. I’m sorry, John. I love you, but I never meant for you to get hurt...”

“Be quiet,” John whispered as he leaned into the man’s chest. 

He felt himself being lifted and heard paramedics around him. Nothing else mattered though, because he felt Sherlock’s hand in his and he knew that everything would be alright in the end. It always was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is not beta'd or brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	8. Let Him Know (Mystrade)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On a way to a date, Mycroft realizes that there is something very wrong with Anthea.
> 
> I'm so sorry. This was originally going to be very fluffy. 
> 
> Not anymore.

Mycroft had been having a terrible day. He was woken at three in the morning for an emergency meeting regarding international affairs and he had not taken a break since then. The clock read nine in the evening when he finally settled the matter. The paperwork, however, was a different story. He knew that hours would be wasted on the papers that could be spent with Gregory.

His lovely Gregory. They had been dating for several months and Mycroft, despite his best efforts, had fallen head-over-heels for the man. Quite literally, actually. Greg had gotten the courage to ask the politician on a date after the man tripped on some stairs and was caught by the Detective Inspector. 

They had grown closer over the months and Mycroft knew that, without a doubt, he loved Gregory.  
The man was pulled from his thoughts with a knock on the door. He returned to his papers as he quietly cursed himself for day-dreaming. Day-dreaming about Gregory was not helping his chances of actually seeing the man. He hoped that the hour wouldn’t be too late to go to Gregory’s flat for the night by the time he finished, but the chances were quickly diminishing as the clock continued to tick.

The door opened and Anthea stepped into the room. “Sir, you should go home. You can do the paperwork tomorrow. You are exhausted.” She smirked slightly as she read a text message. “And your boyfriend is rather annoyed with you. He wants to see you as much as you want to see him.”

“I know, Anthea, but these papers need to be…” Her phone beeped with another message. She grinned widely. 

“He says he is going to get a warrant, come in here, and put you in handcuffs if you don’t leave within the next five minutes.”

“I thought he was already going to use the handcuffs.” Mycroft whispered under his breath. Anthea pretended not to hear. 

He cleared his throat. “Well, I wouldn’t want to add to my stacks of paperwork and I am not accomplishing anything at the moment. I will see you tomorrow, Anthea. Would you care to let me drive you home?” 

Mycroft rose from his desk, stretching his arms and legs and letting his joints pop. He found his coat and his umbrella and followed Anthea out of the office. They took one of Mycroft’s black cars and sat in silence, with the minor exception of Anthea telling the driver where she lived. 

The driver stopped at Gregory’s flat first and Anthea grabbed Mycroft’s wrist as he moved to exit. 

“I know you used to say that caring in not an advantage, but I am glad you have grown to care for him. He is good for you. You aren’t trying to kill yourself with work anymore. Just...make sure that you tell him how much he means to you. Over and over again.” Anthea gave him a weak smile before her face became neutral.

“Anthea, my dear, is everything alright?” Mycroft knelt beside her and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, knowing that she would be crying later. Something was bothering her, something that was powerful enough to make her mask waver. She would never admit it, but he knew.

“Sir...Mycroft...this job is dangerous for you and for the ones you love. Make sure they know they are cherished. And let him know the dangers...” Her voice was slightly strained and she looked at him with a weary expression. 

Mycroft leaned forward and hugged the woman tightly. “I will, Anthea. Would you like me to stay?” She shook her head softly as he released her. “You can call me if you need anything, even just a person to whom you could vent.”

“Go have fun with your boyfriend. Have a nice night, sir. I will see you tomorrow.” 

Mycroft leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead. “Goodnight, Anthea. I’ll see you tomorrow. Try to get some sleep.”

He finally got out of the car and mounted the stairs to Gregory’s flat. When he rang the doorbell, he realized something. Maybe his day wasn’t as bad as it had seemed. 

She had been wearing an engagement ring previously. Today, when he had hugged her, he felt the signature bumps associated with a pair of dog tags underneath a shirt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is not beta'd or brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	9. Je t'aimerai toujours. (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Holmes brothers exchange words... What will John do?

John heard the shouting as he mounted the stairs to 221B. He was returning from a long shift at the clinic and had been looking forward to a quiet, relaxing evening with tea, a book, and his boyfriend on the couch. Apparently, Sherlock had other plans.

“Fermez votre bouche!” said one voice. John rushed up the steps at a pace that made his knee ache. He reached for his gun, only to remember that it was in his bedside table. He approached the door and slowly turned the handle, just as something ceramic was hurled at his head. It shattered behind John, who managed to duck in time. 

“Vraiment? Mais, tu étais toujours formal avec moi, mais vraiment, Mycroft? Is that what I am to you? Am I just a freak? You are not the brother that I know. The brother I know wouldn’t utter that word. Casse-toi.” Sherlock then stormed into his room and slammed the door behind him.

John, completely lost, tried to examine the situation. Mycroft was standing in the middle of the flat, his face flushed from arguing with Sherlock. Gregory stood in the corner, looking at his feet. The two men remained silent; they did not acknowledge John.

“Is someone going to explain what happened?” John finally whispered as the silence began to grate at his nerves. “Greg?”

Greg sighed and met John’s eyes. “Myc and I are getting married. Sherlock insulted my intelligence and then they went at each other’s throats. Myc called Sherlock a freak, I think. My French is a bit rusty.” John raised an eyebrow. “He insulted me in French because he didn’t know that I lived with my grandmum in France as a kid. Anyway, he went insane, like he couldn’t process something. He started mixing his languages and then you arrived. He was aiming for Mycroft with that mug.”

Mycroft was standing like a statue, staring at Sherlock’s door. “Merde.” He mumbled. “Greg, I think we should leave.” His face was somber as he turned to John. “Tell him I did not mean…”

John opened the door and waved for them to leave. “Get out. You know that he doesn’t trust many people and then you say that. Do you know how long it took me to get his self-esteem up this high? And then you call him a freak. He’s not a freak. You, however, are a monster. I tell you if you can come around here again. Until then, stay away from him.”

The doctor glared daggers at the men as they hurriedly left. He sighed and closed the door and went to their bedroom. He knocked on the door, then slowly opened it. “Love, where are you?”

A small, choked sob came from under the bed. John saw the dark brown curls slowly emerge and he knelt beside the man. “Sherlock, why are you hiding under the bed?”

“It’s an experiment, John.” Sherlock mumbled as John took his hand and pulled him from his hiding place. “To see if I can hide from people. Mais, il ne marche pas.”

“Shh...Sherlock, I love you.” John embraced the man tightly and started unbuttoning their shirts and trousers. He leaned upwards to kiss the man softly and helped him into bed. 

The detective remained silent and let John move him as he liked. He felt numb and confused. He moved to say something, but John pressed a finger to the detective’s lips as he climbed onto the other side of the bed and pulled the sheets over them. 

“You are going to calm down, go to sleep, and we will fix everything in the morning. Now, goodnight.” John pulled the detective onto his chest and stroked the man’s curls. The detective sobbed slightly every now and then, but eventually he was asleep. 

John smiled at the sleeping detective. He kissed his forehead and whispered, “I love you; that is all that matters, isn’t it? Others may hurt you, but I promise I will always be here for you. Always. Je t'aimerai toujours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is not beta'd or brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	10. The Pillow Fairy (Anthooper)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Absolute Anthooper fluff.
> 
> Enjoy. :)

“Love, where are all of the pillows that were on my bed?” Molly Hooper called from her bedroom as Anthea made breakfast. Anthea flipped a pancake onto Molly’s plate and poured a cup of tea for her. 

“No clue.” She called as she poured more batter into the pan. “Maybe the pillow fairy took them. I hear she dislikes excessive amounts of pillows that interrupt certain… activities. Dear, your breakfast is ready. I have pancakes.” 

Anthea smiled to herself as her girlfriend ran into the room. The brunette loved pancakes for breakfast, and the excitement on her face was pleasing, as was the tangled mess of her hair that the assistant had created the previous night. Molly sat quickly and sipped her tea as she waited for Anthea to finish cooking. 

“What, no kiss? At least the boss pays me to cook for him.” Anthea grinned as Molly stood to wrap her arms around the woman’s waist from behind and kiss her cheek. She rested her chin on Anthea’s shoulder and squeezed her.

“I’ll give you as many kisses as you want...as soon as you tell me where those pillows are. I don’t give kisses to thieves.” Molly released the assistant’s waist and returned to her chair. Anthea smiled as she remembered several of the scientist’s former boyfriends who had criminal histories, but she dropped the thought. “How long can you stay for today? I have to leave in the afternoon to meet with Sherlock.”

“Mycroft is on vacation with Gregory. It’s their first anniversary. Other than some paperwork, my week is free unless he needs something. I can stay as long as you’d like.” Anthea placed her pancake onto her plate and poured a mug of tea for herself. She sat across from Molly and regarded the newspaper. 

“And, as for the pillows, why do you need nine of them? Two is the minimal, but nine is excessive. They aren’t even comfortable. And how many people, other than me, see your bedroom? You do not need pillows to impress me. You just need to be as stunning as you were last night and as beautiful as you always are. See, I am already impressed.” Anthea looked over the newspaper to see the scientist blushing furiously. She grinned 

“Well, they are pretty, and I like them…” Molly mumbled as she stood to take her plate to the kitchen. She looked at an interesting speck of lint on her dressing gown. “They can also be used for...other things. I mean, if you’d let me show you.”

Anthea set the newspaper aside and put her plate into the sink to be washed later. She grabbed Molly’ waist and pulled her into a rough kiss. “I hid them under the sofa and in various cabinets until I could dispose of them later. You might be capable of changing my views on the importance of pillows, however.”

The two women grinned and began to retrieve the pillows, stopping to kiss or to hit one another with the pillows every few moments. 

The scientist was easily able to persuade the assistant to keep them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is not beta'd or brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	11. The Mysterious Origin of Mirabelle (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Parentlock for today. Who is the father?
> 
> Enjoy.

Mrs. Hudson had agreed to stay with Sherlock and watch the baby while John did some shopping and spoke to Greg. Sherlock sat at the small kitchen table, watching the sleeping child as sorted through boxes for infant-related items. 

“Really, Sherlock. Where did you find a baby?” Mrs. Hudson pulled several baby blankets from a dusty box, followed by two baby bottles. “You two are glad that my Michael had a daughter a few years ago and wanted to use me for storage. Do you have a name for her yet?”

Sherlock sighed and turned to the woman. “Her name is Mirabelle. She was left on our doorstep. They will not find the mother; the mother does not want her.” The child’s nose began to run and Sherlock quickly found a tissue and wiped the baby’s face. “The mother is going through a divorce with her wife. They used fertility treatments and decided that the donor father would want her more than them. They have no personal attachment to the child; they also used a donor egg because both are likely infertile.”

Mrs. Hudson’s mouth dropped. “How can you know that much about the mother?”

Sherlock waved his hand to dismiss her comment. The mother had rung the doorbell to leave the child and had told him everything. They found the donor mother, but decided that she was unsuitable, as they had found her with a nearly-empty bottle of vodka in her hand. She had sold herself to pay for her addiction. 

Sherlock sighed to himself; he was not any different. How many years ago had he offered to father unknown children for his addiction? He had a nice face, seemed intelligent; they had paid him well.

Now his past continued to haunt him. What was he to tell John? He sat on the sofa and began to think.

“Wait, Sherlock. Who is the donor father? You said… Which one of you is related to this child.”

“Can we please forget about this, Mrs. Hudson?” Sherlock heard John’s tell-tale footsteps on the stairs and closed his eyes. 

“Sherlock… If you are saying what I think you are saying, I will not hesitate to tell John. He deserves to know. If you tell me now, I won’t say a word.” She leaned over him and had a stern expression.

He placed his hands under his chin and narrowed his eyes at the elderly woman. He closed them as he pieced together the facts in his mind in a simple manner for the woman. 

“The women went to the donor mother first. She was an alcoholic and, by some strange chance, happened to be Harry Watson, though the universe is never that lazy. In any matter, finding her unfit, they sought the donor father, who happens to be me. Now, please do not tell John. I will tell him in time.” 

“Mrs. Hudson, thank you for watching these two. Could you let Sherlock and I be alone for a minute? We need to discuss some... things.” Sherlock heard a thud from the doorway of bags dropping, and he winced at the growing anger in the man’s voice . “William Sherlock Scott Holmes.”

Sherlock turned to face the doctor. “What do you mean that she is your child with Harry? How?”

Sherlock looked at his shoes as he briefly described the incident with the mother and some of the things he had done in his younger days. They sat on the sofa, John’s eyes never leaving Sherlock’s face. Finally, the doctor laughed wearily. “So, we are parents. She is related to the both of us. She is our daughter. I mean, I was going to discuss this with you, but… wow. So, what do we do now? Do we tell Harry? Wait...do you want to keep her?” 

John noticed Sherlock’s pained expression. “John… I don’t know if I’ll be a good father. What-what if she becomes like me? Everyone believes that I am a cold, heartless sociopath...” Sherlock’s hands were shaking; he realized he was panicking, but it was a new sensation. 

John took his hand and squeezed it. Then he kissed the man softly on the lips. “Shh… we can handle this, Sherlock. You are the most amazing person that I have met. If she is just like you, it will be fine. She will solve crimes and find a military doctor with a psychosomatic limp who loves her.”

The doctor stood and went into the kitchen, lifting the sleeping child from her carrier. He returned and handed her to the detective. She opened her eyes sleepily, her blue eyes examining her surroundings, watching her parents. She smiled and closed her eyes, immediately asleep once more.

“She has your eyes… well, your sister’s eyes.” Sherlock whispered.

“She has your smile. I love you.” John kissed the man’s cheek as he went to put the baby items that he had purchased on the table.

“I love you, too.” Sherlock whispered, watching the small child. Whether he was speaking to John or to the infant, even he did not know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is not beta'd or brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	12. His Worst Nightmare (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of angst and fluff. I apologize for the (possible) initial heart attack.
> 
> Enjoy.

Sherlock’s heart stopped as he stepped into the hospital room. The nurses tried to hold him, but he pushed past them. All he could see was John. John’s closed eyes, his pale skin, the red all over his chest, everything was wrong. John was too quiet, too still; the line on the screen seemed too bright, the noise too loud.

“No…” Sherlock was clinging to his boyfriend, no, his boyfriend’s body, and the nurses grabbed at his limbs. How had this happened? John couldn’t be…

It was all his fault. He knew that John was being targeted, but he hadn’t warned him in time. The phone call came too late. 

He placed a hand on the man’s cold cheek. “John…” He felt a sharp pain in his arm and let the darkness absorb him.

***

Sherlock jolted awake. He was drenched in sweat and his face had a warm wetness. The bed beside him was empty and there was blood on the sheets. He felt numb, yet his heart raced. He examined the bed, looking for a source of the blood.

His arm was bleeding. The blood was his. He had left deep claw marks in his arms, enough to draw blood. He breathed a sigh of relief and went to the kitchen to look for John.

Only John was nowhere to be found. Panic washed over him. It had been a dream, a nightmare, right? He dialed John’s number, but received no answer. He then texted him, again receiving no answer. Had it actually happened? Had John…

Sherlock again found his face wet and his vision blurred. He sat on the sofa when he felt his breathing become unsteady. He was confused, doubting himself, when the door finally opened. 

“Oh, good, you’re awake. I had to get milk for the tea...what’s wrong?” Sherlock turned towards the noise of a bag dropping and found two warm arms embracing him. Sherlock leaned into the embrace and tightened his grip around the doctor, his very-much alive doctor. 

“I had a dream, and you were very mean to me. Promise me you won’t leave, ever. I do not want to become the person that I was without you. John… I love you so much, and I don’t tell you enough-” Sherlock’s tone became more and more panicked as he remembered the dream. The doctor placed his hands on either sides of the detective’s head and kissed him deeply and slowly. 

“Shh… I’m not going anywhere. I love you too. Now, calm down.”

“But I tried calling you and-” Sherlock was again silenced by the doctor’s mouth. John again embraced the detective, then helped him to a chair in the kitchen so the shorter man could make them tea. 

Once John gave him tea, Sherlock was able to calm himself enough to explain his dream. After recounting his tale, he dropped his head onto the doctor’s shoulder and inhaled his scent.

“It was just a nightmare, Sherlock. Now, you look exhausted and I have a free day from work. Let’s go back to bed?” Sherlock smiled as John kissed him once more and led him into their bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is not beta'd or brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	13. Purple (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this is a pretty picture for you all. (Pun intended.)
> 
> Enjoy.

"Sherlock, I see no point in keeping acid on the side table in our bedroom. Can you not find somewhere else to store it?” John sighed as he painted a small bedside table in the center of the room. He had newspapers spread on the floor and was painting the table a deep purple, the same color as Sherlock's well-fitted shirt that could drive anyone insane with lust. 

“I had to watch it for a reaction and you were being extremely needy.” Sherlock retorted from his chair. He watched John quietly and sipped his tea. The doctor was wearing an old pair of jeans that fit his body quite well, and Sherlock could not stop staring.

John turned to face the detective, pointing the paintbrush at him. “If you did not force me into the sewers in the middle of the London winter, I would not have gotten ill and we would not be having this conversation. And you did a bloody good job of watching it too; The acid left a two-centimeter deep hole in the table. You should be fixing this table.”

Sherlock stood and lowered himself so he was staring at the doctor. “Why do we even need to paint the table? It is not like anyone sees it.”

“Maybe I like a table that does not have acid in it, Sherlock. If you are not going to help, you can make me tea.” The doctor turned to continue painting and dismissed the detective with his hand that held the brush. 

The brush hit Sherlock in the face and left a purple stripe from his eye, over his nose, to the other corner of his mouth. The doctor began laughing uncontrollably, and Sherlock took the paintbrush from the man. He then proceeded to give John a purple nose, and, grinning wickedly, left paint on the doctor’s shirt. 

“I guess you’ll have to remove your shirt. We would not want it to stain, would we?” Sherlock took the doctor’s shirt and pulled it over his head in a single movement. “I think you might have some on your jeans too. They’ll need to be washed-”

John stared at the detective, crossing his arms but grinning as the man removed his trousers. “You planned this, didn't you?”

Sherlock only smiled as he began to remove his own shirt. He pulled the doctor close to him and pressed his lips against the man’s ear. “Would you rather stand here and talk or would you like to see how much paint we can get on one another?” John kissed the detective fiercely and looped his fingers around the taller man’s belt loops, pulling him towards the bedroom. 

Thus, the purple table remained unfinished, and two sets of clothes and a set of sheets bore a dark aubergine color forevermore; well, more colors were added, but that is a different story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is not beta'd or brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	14. Like Everyone Else (Mystrade)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is Greg actually Spiderman? Well...
> 
> Enjoy.

Greg Lestrade had just entered the townhouse that he shared with his boyfriend when he heard a loud crash from the kitchen. Mycroft’s shoes were by the door, but Mycroft was not the type of man who wanted to use the pots and pans at one in the morning.

Silently but quickly, Greg grabbed an umbrella by the door and stealthily made his way to the kitchen. As soon as he opened the door, he began laughing hysterically. His boyfriend, the leader of the British government, was sitting on the counter, eyes scanning the floor. He held a broom in his hand and jumped at the sight of Gregory.

“Myc…” The politician threw a dust pan at him and motioned for him to be quiet and to close the door.

“There is a spider.” Mycroft hissed. “I noticed it on my shoe when I was making tea and I do not know where I kicked it. I’ve been trying to find it, but it is hiding.”

Greg laughed as he crossed to the kitchen counter and kissed his husband’s cheek. “I’ll kill the little spider for you, love. Just leave it to your big strong boyfriend.” The detective inspector joked as he ruffled the politician's hair. Mycroft hit him lightly on the head with the broom.

“This is no joking matter, Gregory. The spider was large for its species-” The younger man suddenly stopped as he spotted the creature on the kitchen wall. “There it is. Gregory, kill it. Kill it now. I order you to kill it.” He tried to hide behind the detective inspector, but the man stood and walked to the wall. The politician moved to hide behind the kitchen island.

“I am your boyfriend, not your slave. And this little thing? Mycroft, really? He’s harmless.” Greg approached the creature, carefully swept it into his hand, and set it outside. “See? Harmless.” 

The politician cautiously stood and continued making his tea. With his back to Gregory, he cleared his throat and, in a deep, authoritative voice, said, “You will tell no one of this encounter. No one… or so help me, I will give your baby pictures to everyone at the office and to my brother.”

Gregory smiled and wrapped his arms around the younger man’s waist. He pressed his lips against the shell of his ear. “I think it is adorable that the strongest man in England has such a simple fear. You face death, conflict, and politicians every day without a flinch. Now, I know that you are, at least partially, human. I’ll dispose of as many spiders as you need, love.”

A large red blush had crept to Mycroft’s cheeks, and he leaned into the man. “I guess it is a bit ridiculous. Spiders, really? I should know better.” Gregory kissed the man and hushed his rambling. 

Everyone has fears, and Mycroft Holmes was not an exception.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is not beta'd or brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	15. Should He Leave (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I give to thee: angry angst.
> 
> Enjoy.

“Leave me alone, John. Go on a silly date with an unfaithful woman who is seeing two other men and her brother’s wife.” Sherlock snarled at his flatmate. “I am perfectly fine; I do not need you to check on me every ten minutes.”

Sherlock was annoyed with his flatmate. John had been invading his personal space recently. They were small things, reaching over him to give him his tea or putting a hand on his shoulder when he talked to him. Sherlock had said something about being cold, and the man had immediately checked his temperature and had found a blanket. In this process, John destroyed one of Sherlock’s samples. 

Sherlock was fine with a caring John; he adored the man in all of his forms. Sherlock, however, had slept very little and the emotions that he usually suppressed were bubbling to the surface. He was frustrated with his experiment, with John (and his feelings towards John), and with himself.

To add to the situation, John was dressed for a nice date; he even had flowers. Seeing John contribute so much effort to a woman who did not deserve him made Sherlock’s blood boil and, for some odd reason, his heart beat faster.

So, Sherlock shouted at John. His mind was muddled, and he needed time to think. 

John was silent as he glared at his flatmate. “I just want to make sure that you are well. Sherlock, I am a doctor and your friend. It is my job to check on you every ten minutes. I’m sorry if I ruined your experiment, but you have no right to yell at me.”

Sherlock threw the blanket onto the floor and stood to look John in the eyes. “If you were my friend, you would leave... I cannot do this anymore. I am going to my room so I don’t have to see this.”

Sherlock stormed towards his room with John at his heels. He tried to grab his wrist, but Sherlock quickly had the door shut and locked before John had any chance. 

John stood by the door, knocking on it lightly. “Sherlock, talk to me. What do you not want to do anymore? Sherlock...” 

“Go on your date, John.”

Sherlock waited until he heard footsteps leave the door before he sunk to the floor, his back pressed against the door.   
In a broken voice, he yelled at the unsympathetic walls. “Go find someone, get married, and move. Just don’t tell me when you do. If I can pretend you’re here, that you are just at the clinic or the store getting milk, I can spare myself the heartbreak of you leaving me.”

***

John had never left though. He made loud footsteps away from the door and then softly tiptoed to the doorway. As Sherlock yelled, John listened intently with his ear pressed against the wood; his chest hurt with the rawness of each word. 

He allowed himself to sink to the ground and sat against the door at the end of the speech. 

“Sherlock, I promise that I will never leave, you brilliant, insane man. I would do anything for you. Now, please come out so I can say these things to your face.” John’s voice was soft, and any trace of anger had already dissipated.

The door was suddenly wrenched open, and Sherlock threw himself at John, clinging to the soldier. John smiled as he embraced the man and kissed his forehead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is not beta'd or brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	16. A Surprise for John (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has a surprise for John's birthday...
> 
> Enjoy.

Sherlock stood in front of the mirror and admired his handiwork. The French maid outfit fit his hips nicely and he looked...sexy. The detective was trying to surprise John for his birthday; John had once talked about liking those types of acts in the bedroom. 

So, Sherlock had ordered a maid outfit to surprise his boyfriend and now waited patiently on the couch for John to return from work. 

Sherlock did feel a bit ridiculous; other than the effect on his hips, he saw no appeal whatsoever in the costume. The fabric was uncomfortable and he noted to ask Mycroft to give his female colleagues more credit for the things they thought they had to do for men. 

Sherlock was drawn from his thoughts when he heard footsteps on the stairs. Quickly, he arranged himself on the table, his legs crossed seductively and a feather duster in hand. 

The door slowly opened and he called, “Mr. Watson, I am so glad you’re home. I was wondering what other...things I could clean for you.” Sherlock immediately flushed red when he looked at John.

John stood in the doorway, but he was not alone. Not only was the Detective Inspector standing with John, but so was Mycroft. 

John was as red as Sherlock and, in their moment of shock and embarrassment, Mycroft Holmes took a photo for blackmail and Gregory Lestrade became very interested in his fingernails.

Sherlock bolted to their room and slammed the door shut. His face felt hot. His brother had seen him in this ridiculous outfit. His brother’s boyfriend had seen him. He knew for a fact that neither of them wanted to know certain aspects of his relationship with John.

John entered the room a few moments later, his blush having resided somewhat. “They didn’t see much, Sherlock. They left.” He sat beside Sherlock on the floor and held his hand.

“I’m sorry, John. This is humiliating for me; I cannot imagine how you feel…Happy Birthday, though.” Sherlock accepted an embrace from his partner and pressed their foreheads together.

John smiled softly. “I’m embarrassed, yes, but it is not the worst situation I’ve experienced. And I have to admit, I am really turned on by this whole ensemble. I think this is one of the best birthday presents that I’ve ever had.”

John kissed deeply Sherlock and pulled him to his feet. He wrapped an arm around his waist and moved them to the bed. 

“Now, you said you wanted to clean something...what did you have in mind?” John smirked at the man before him. 

Despite the minor hiccups and the unexpected visitors, the evening was perfect for the both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is not beta'd or brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	17. To Her Rescue (Anthooper)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anthea meets Molly's parents...
> 
> Warning: Homophobia
> 
> Enjoy.

Anthea and Molly had been living together for several months and dating for nearly a year. Despite being clearly in love, the two were keeping the details of their relationship hidden due to safety reasons. To everyone other than their close friends, Molly and Anthea were simply roommates. 

“Molly, dear, I brought takeaway for dinner. Greg was called to the Yard, so Myc gave it to us.” Anthea called as she opened the door to their flat. She stepped into the warmth of the flat and removed her heels. She set the boxes on the table and went to get plates. 

“It’s your favorite.” She called as she heard no response from her girlfriend. 

She rounded the corner into the small sitting room and found her girlfriend sitting on the sofa. With a parent on either side of her. Her parents were upset and angry.

Anthea knew from the files that Molly’s parents were extremely homophobic; this reason was why she had insisted that they keep their relationship on a need-to-know basis. From the clenched fists of her father and the tear stains in her mother’s makeup, they knew. Molly looked at the ground; her face was drawn and her eyes were red. 

“Thea,” She whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“Molly, come here.” Anthea flashed a fake smile to the Hoopers. Molly looked at her girlfriend and then at her parents. She stayed on the sofa. “Molly. Look at me.”

The scientist focused on the assistant, but still seemed lost. “Why don’t you go make some tea while I speak with your parents?” She nodded hesitantly and quickly went to the kitchen.

“Hello, I would say that it is nice to meet you, but given the situation, I believe we should skip the formal introductions.” Anthea stood in front of the sofa as Molly’s parents glared at her.

“How dare you corrupt our daughter like this! We raised her to be a good girl. Not a…” Molly’s father stood and swung his arm at Anthea. Anthea stepped aside and used his momentum to carry him over the coffee table and onto the floor. She held his arm firmly against his back, twisting his shoulder to inflict the most pain with the least amount of effort. She crouched beside him to whisper into his ear.

“You, sir, are the corrupt one. You are selfish enough to put your comfort above your daughter’s happiness. I love your daughter; she is the most brilliant and most beautiful person I know. I will not let anyone, not you, not even the Queen, come between us. I am trained in ten types of martial arts and know hundreds of ways to kill you in the next five seconds with my bare hands. If you want to fight, let’s fight, but know that you will surely lose.”

Anthea released the man and stood. “I know she loves you, but if she is threatened by you or anyone else, I will have to handle the situation appropriately. If you want to accept us and accept her, you can be a big happy family. If not, I do not want to see your faces around here. Have I made my point clear?”

Both of them nodded. The father quickly scrambled to his feet and they fled through the front door. 

Anthea sighed as she sat on the sofa. She closed her eyes, exhausted from her day and from having to threaten homophobic parents. She opened them when she felt warm lips on her forehead. 

“Have I told you how much I love you?” Molly smiled as she gave a mug of tea to Anthea and sat beside her on the couch. Anthea rested her head on Molly’s shoulder and breathed in the woman’s scent.

“I love you so much. I admit that I overreacted somewhat, but I cannot stand to see you upset.” Anthea murmured. She was half-asleep. Molly sighed and set their tea mugs on the table. She moved to help the woman stand so they could go to bed.

“Let’s go to bed. We are both exhausted. I put the food in the refrigerator. We can eat it later.” 

That night, Molly and Anthea slept in each other’s arms with smiles on their faces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is not beta'd or brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	18. All That Is Dear (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to the lovely Lion_62 for the idea for this chapter. 
> 
> John's parents arrive at 221B...
> 
> Enjoy.
> 
> WARNING: Homophobic language that shows how terrible John's parents are.

Mira had been crying for hours and Sherlock did not know what to do. He tried asking John for help, but he was on the phone with someone. He tried changing her and feeding her, but she only cried more. Unable to do anything, the detective sat in his chair, the infant in his arms, and tried to deduce the infant's ailment. 

Sherlock did not care about decency after several more minutes. "John Watson, you will help me with this child now or you will never see me in the maid outfit again." He said loudly into John's ear. John dropped the phone, quickly apologized, and ended the call.

John looked angry for a moment, but quickly took the infant and felt her forehead. "Can you find me a thermometer? She feels a bit warm."

The infant had a low-grade fever and a cold. As soon as John gave her medicine, she quieted and went to sleep. They put her in her crib and returned to the sofa to cuddle. Sherlock was upset that he hadn't realized that the child was ill. 

"Really Sherlock, you couldn't have known. I am trained to see those symptoms." John whispered as he stroked Sherlock's curls. "You are a great father." He kissed Sherlock's forehead. 

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Sherlock, expecting it to be a client, went to answer the door. 

"Hello. How can I help you?" 

Suddenly, an older man and woman rushed into the flat. 

"John Hamish Watson, please explain to me why I heard both a baby and a man who promised sexual favors on the phone. Don't tell me you are a... freak like your sister." The woman's voice was raised and the two looked unhappy. 

"You're fucking a man, aren't you? Or worse, you're letting him bum you. You are a disgrace. I'm surprised that any mother would leave a kid with a homo like you. You're going to turn it gay." The older man eyed Sherlock, who stood still and examined the situation.

"Mom, Dad, can you please lower your voices? I wanted to tell you, but I knew this would happen. I'm bisexual, alright? This is my boyfriend Sherlock." John moved to take Sherlock's hand and squeezed it affectionately. 

"So you are being bummed by a man. You are not my son. I knew you didn't go into the army for the fighting. You went and got shot after you had enough men. Look, you've always been soft, weak." John flinched at every word his father spat.

Suddenly, the man was pressed against the wall, a syringe pressed against his neck. 

"John has saved countless lives. He is the most amazing man that I have ever met, and he and my daughter are the only two people who are stopping me from killing you."

Sherlock released the man as soon as Mira began crying from the other room. He looked at John, who went to the kitchen to get a bottle. Sherlock went to fetch the infant.

The Watson parents stood and watched. They may have been minor threats, but Mira came first. Sherlock fed her while glaring at the two and John stood between the two groups. 

"I am happy here with Sherlock and my daughter. I do not care what you think of me. I love them, and if you cannot put my happiness above your notions of society, you can leave now. If you do, please realize that you will never see me or your granddaughter ever again." John sighed as he looked at his parents and opened the door. "I love you, but those two there are my entire world and I will do anything for them."

John's father stormed out of the flat. His mother, however, put an arm on his good shoulder and smiled weakly. "I was a bit shocked when I first got here, but I can see that this is who you are. I'll try to make him come around to it. What is her name and who was the mother?"

John smiled. "Her name is Mirabelle. Harry gave the egg and Sherlock is the biological father. Thank you." He hugged his mother and she left, flashing a smile at Sherlock and Mira as she left. 

John crossed to the sofa and kissed Sherlock. Mira had been burped and was now fast asleep. John took the baby in his arms and curled into Sherlock, Sherlock's chin resting on John's shoulder. 

The events of the day had been tiring and Sherlock and Mira fell asleep as John marveled at how happy they made him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is not beta'd or brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	19. Shirts and Jumpers (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pure fluff about clothes.
> 
> Enjoy. :)

Sherlock sighed sleepily as the sun entered the window. He rolled onto his back and tried to wake himself. He and John had...done so many things last night, so many wonderful things. 

John’s side of the bed was still warm and Sherlock could hear him making tea in the kitchen. He sighed again when he heard his phone beep with a text message from Lestrade.

The detective fell off the bed in a tangle of sheets and walked to the wardrobe to find a clean shirt. Sherlock, however, had no clean shirts. He and John had been running around London so much that John had not had time to do any of the laundry.

Then he remembered the shirt he was wearing last night.

He had only been wearing it for a few minutes before John had proceeded to attack him and Sherlock was sure that he had thrown it somewhere. 

He searched the room but found nothing. Maybe John had it. 

“John, have you seen my purple shirt? The one I was wearing last night?” He called as he walked into the living room and sat on the sofa, his hands folded under his chin. 

John walked into the room with Sherlock’s tea and the detective’s jaw dropped. Sherlock’s purple shirt was now draped over John’s body, was the only thing on John;s body. The sleeves and buttons were too long, but the rest of the shirt hugged his figure.

Sherlock licked his lips as he hungrily observed the man. John was both sexy and adorable and Sherlock did not know whether to drag the man back to the bedroom and forget about Lestrade or to hug the man forever. 

“Yeah, I just grabbed something. I lost my glasses somehow and didn’t have my contacts yet.” John smiled at Sherlock’s expression. “Didn’t you have enough of me last night?”

Sherlock shook his head. “I will never have enough of you, John.” He stood and wrapped his arms around the man’s waist. He kissed him roughly, but John playfully pushed him. 

“Greg needs us. We can do this later.” John winked at the man and went into the bedroom to go change.

Sherlock followed the man. “I’ll go if you do one thing…” Sherlock grinned wickedly as he kissed his detective again.

***

Greg did not know what to think. Sherlock, Sherlock-I-am-a-sociopath-Holmes, was wearing a jumper. Not just any jumper, no. He was wearing a pastel green jumper. And John Watson, the former soldier who could kill someone with his bare hands, was wearing Sherlock’s purple shirt. Everyone knew the shirt was Sherlock’s. And now, the doctor was parading the fact that they were…

Greg did not know whether to be happy for them or totally disgusted as he imagined what they did in the privacy of 221B Baker Street. All he could do was send a picture to Mycroft, so the man could share in his pain, and do his job as a Detective Inspector.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is not beta'd or brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	20. His Brave Soldier (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the lovely Esiako. Thank you for the suggestion/idea. 
> 
> Enjoy. :)

“Happy Anniversary.” John whispered over the phone. “Can you believe that it has been fifteen years? I just wanted to call and say that I am even more in love with you than I was then. I can still remember our first kiss, you know? When Mike locked us in the closet because I was being bitter and miserable for myself and you were being a sarcastic genius, I was so nervous. I had been in love with your face and your voice and your mind for months. I love you so much more now. You are the only thing in my life that is constant and good and keeping me alive over here. We-” his voice cracked slightly. “We are going to be moving soon into some dangerous territory. I won’t be able to call or email for what could be mere hours or weeks. I don’t want you to worry; I know how your mind works and I don’t want Mycroft getting involved. I promise I’ll call as soon as we are out. If something...nevermind. I love you, Sherlock. I love you so much. I cannot wait to marry you. Stay safe and eat three meals a day and remember to be nice to miss Hudson and everyone. Bye. Love you.”

Sherlock smiled to himself as he listened to John’s voice. He saved the message and let the emotions invade his mind. He really needed to suppress them, but he could not stop thinking. Fifteen years, and John had been gone for two, almost three. Sherlock missed him so much. He wondered how John looked now. His skin was probably tan and his hair would be lighter. He absentmindedly twirled his silver engagement ring around his finger. 

The message had been left six hours earlier. John had called him while he was on a case and Sherlock thought it was probably for the better. Sherlock would have argued with him to stay safe, but John loved danger and would not have listened. Better to do it and be forgiven later, right?

His phone rang and he quickly answered it. “Hello?”

“Are you Sherlock Holmes? This is Major Matthew Thomas. Captain Watson...there’s been an accident.”

Sherlock dropped the phone. “No,” he whispered. “No, no, this is not happening. This...can’t...be…” He listened to the man on the phone, well, he tried. John had been shot. John had been shot and all Sherlock could do was curl into a ball on the floor and sob.

***

John Watson was returned home in one piece a few weeks later. His wound had healed, mostly, but he required therapy for his shoulder. He had died twice in the surgery, but they had saved him. He was extremely lucky to walk from the desert hospital with a cane. The army had honorably discharged him and he was home, safe and mostly-sound.

Sherlock had no idea, though, of John’s return. He believed John to be recovering in a field hospital still. Mycroft had secretly met the soldier in the hospital, and the two had planned a surprise for Sherlock

John smiled as he limped into the Scotland Yard. He had missed the smell of coffee and sweat and the noises of paperwork and crime-fighting. He saw how everyone was gathered around a small table with cake and presents. John’s return had coincided with Sherlock’s birthday and Mycroft, with the help of Lestrade, his boyfriend, was able to plan a party to celebrate the birth of the world’s only consulting detective. 

Mycroft saw John enter the room quietly and lit the candles on Sherlock’s cake. “Sherlock, we are going to sing happy birthday and then you will make a wish and blow out the candles.” Mycroft earned a glare from his brother and the entire force proceeded to laugh. 

As soon as they commenced singing, John moved through the crowd and stood behind Sherlock as he extinguished the candles.

“What was your wish?” John whispered. into the detective’s ear. Sherlock’s eyes snapped open and gazed in shock at the soldier. 

“John?” The detective’s voice cracked as he hugged the soldier tightly. John’s shoulder hurt, but he did not care. He was reunited with his detective. Sherlock released the soldier and kissed him roughly. Everyone else was forgotten.

The kiss earned several cheers from those who had placed bets on the couple and groans from those few who had not. Greg stared in shock and looked questioningly at Mycroft, who simply grinned. The Detective Inspector had been clueless. 

Sherlock broke the kiss and simply wrapped his arms around the shorter man. He pressed his nose into the man’s neck and breathed in his scent. “John, this is the best birthday present ever.” His cheeks were wet as he was again overcome with emotion, but, for once, he did not care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is not beta'd or brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	21. Glasses (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock is as blind as a bat...
> 
> Enjoy.

Sherlock had lost one of his contact lenses and he had no more replacements. The lens was somewhere on the East End, and he decided that he would manage; he was not going to the crime scene to find it. 

He walked into the sitting room and placed himself on the sofa. He tried to read over a few files, but they were illegible. Sherlock was blind. He had glasses, but John was in the flat and his lenses were particularly humiliating. Thus, he closed his eyes and tried to sort through his mind palace.

After a few minutes, John called from downstairs; he had the laundry and needed Sherlock to help him fold and sort their clothes. He brought the basket and set it on the coffee table.

“I’ll make tea. You start sorting.” He said as Sherlock pretended to ignore him. He called Sherlock’s name again, and Sherlock resigned himself to suffering. He pulled a jumper or a pair of trousers, he could not tell, from the hamper. He folded it as best he could, deciding that it was a jumper, and set it beside him on the sofa.

Sherlock continued to blindly fold the clothes as John brought the tea and started sorting through the socks. Finally, John took Sherlock’s hands and looked him in the eyes. 

“What is going on with you? You have folded two jumpers like trousers and I am positive that you do not wear plaid boxers. Trust me, I have seen you in your underwear. Now, what’s wrong?”

Sherlock turned from John and closed his eyes. “Nothing is wrong, John. I just do not feel like sorting laundry.” He crossed his arms and pretended to be disinterested. 

“Sherlock, look at me.” John said sternly. Sherlock turned to face where he thought John was. “Sherlock, can you not see anything?” Sherlock heard John’s voice on the other side of him. 

Sherlock huffed. “I lost my contact at the case.” 

“Well, go get your glasses then. Or tell me where they are. Don’t you dare say no. I need a functioning sociopath.” Sherlock mumbled that they were in the bathroom cabinet and John soon returned, stifling a laugh.

He handed them to the detective, who reluctantly put on the glasses. They were round, wire glasses that made Sherlock’s eyes appear large. John grinned at the detective, who simply scowled. He had not worn these glasses since his school years and he had stopped for a reason. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he looked at John, expecting some form of ridicule.

“I think you look adorable.” John smiled as he kissed Sherlock’s forehead. “You could be an adult Harry Potter or something. You have plenty of scars.”

“And I could use a spell to erase your memory. If any pictures surface, I swear I will call Lestrade.” Sherlock could not help but grin as well. Seeing John in a good mood, even at his expense, made him happier for some reason. “Now, help me sort laundry.”

John nodded and, when the two had finished, they cuddled on the couch, John trying to get a picture with Sherlock and Sherlock scheduling a prompt meeting with his optometrist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is not beta'd or brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	22. In His Dreams (Mystrade)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greg and Mycroft meet for the first time...
> 
> Enjoy.
> 
> Also, thank you all for the lovely comments. I may not have time to reply to them (due to school work, finals, and general life), but I do enjoy reading all of them. :)

Mycroft Holmes was having a terrible day. He had spilled tea on his shirt, had two attempts and counting on his life, lost an important file during one of said attempts, and had to fill out copious amounts of paperwork. He needed a break, so he decided to take a walk to clear his head and smoke a cigarette. He quietly left without telling Anthea; she would have killed him (and probably would have been more successful than the assassins) if she knew he had taken up the habit again.

He had clearly made a terrible choice when he noticed the knife pressed into his back.

***

After thirty hours without sleep, Gregory Lestrade had just finished a case and the man desperately needed coffee and a nap. After leaving the Yard, he drove to his favorite coffee shop; it was in a completely different direction from his flat, but he had solved the case singlehandedly and he felt proud of himself.

He had parked the Panda and started walking when he noticed something strange. Someone was dragging a sharply dressed man into an alley and the man did not seem content with the proceedings.

The Detective Inspector retrieved his gun from its place on his hip and followed the two. He found the taller man pressed against the wall with a knife pressed to his major artery. The assailant was speaking in French to the man. 

The victim saw Gregory out of the corner of his eye and nodded ever so slightly to acknowledge him. 

“Toi, arrête!” yelled the Inspector. The man, momentarily distracted, pulled the knife from the other man’s throat. The man in the waistcoat immediately threw the attacker against the wall and delivered punch after punch until the man slumped to the ground unconscious. 

“Are you alright?” Greg asked the man, who was straightening his suit and wiping his bloody knuckles with a handkerchief.

“I have had three attacks on my life today and I am desperately in need of a cigarette. You wouldn’t happen to have one, would you?” The man smiled and extended his hand. “Mycroft Holmes.”

“Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade.” Greg took the man’s hand and returned a warm smile. The man’s touch seemed to send electricity through his veins. He pulled a pack and a light from his pocket, offered one to the man, and then took one for himself.

The two of them stood there, leaning against the alley wall, smoking cigarettes, carrying out a light conversation between drags. Greg was drawn to the man; he was interesting and attractive and, in his opinion, a real James Bond. He could fight but was dignified and even made a few jokes.

Eventually, a car arrived and two men carried the unconscious man from the alley. 

“Thank you for saving me.” Mycroft said as he extinguished the cigarette on the wall. “If had you not been there to distract him, he might have killed me.”

“It’s no trouble, really. I just came here for coffee, but you know-” He yawned widely as he dropped his cigarette and ground it into the pavement with his shoe. “Cop instincts.”

“Please, let me repay you. Let me take you to dinner or something. Maybe tomorrow night?” 

Gregory wanted to see the man again and, apparently, the feeling was mutual. “That sounds wonderful.” The man then smiled and arranged for a car to go to Greg’s flat the next day. 

He then offered to drive Greg home; he was clearly not capable of driving in his exhausted condition. The adrenaline had long dissipated and he could barely stand without wobbling. He leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes for a moment.

Greg then found himself in the backseat of a luxurious car with his head resting on the man’s shoulder. The man slow stroked his hair and he again drifted to sleep. 

He did not remember if what happened was a dream or a reality, but he clearly remembered the tall man tucking him into his bed and the man lightly pressing his lips to the Inspector’s forehead. 

When the Inspector awoke, he was in his bed and the man was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is not beta'd or brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	23. Between The Lines (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uni-lock AU.
> 
> Enjoy.

Ever since John Hamish Watson was a small child, he had been writing to his pen pal. The program had been offered at his school where the children were encouraged to write to other participating schools. John’s pen pal was named William and, while the others at his school quickly dropped the idea after two letters, the two boys had maintained correspondence until university. 

The two were different, yes, but they were able to share a connection that John thought was more than friendship. William was the first person to whom John had confessed his bisexuality, and soon afterwards, William came out as gay. They were confidants and friends, yet they had never met.

He had suggested meeting, yet every time his request ignored. Around the time that John started his classes to prepare for medical school, the letters stopped and John resigned that he would never meet his anonymous friend. 

On one particular day in the winter, John had been rushing to a lecture, only to slip on a patch of ice and dislocate his shoulder. After a few days of recovery after a trip to A&E, he returned to class and found the material foreign to him. After the lecture, he rushed to meet one of the students at the door.

This student was tall and had silky black curls and beautiful eyes. He was also the only person in class who took notes; no one else cared about the course material, but John needed to get into medical school at all costs; it was the only way to escape his life of being the son of a working-class alcoholic and an absent mother. 

“Hey, I missed the last few lectures. Can I borrow your notes?” He asked as he pulled the man aside. “I am really sorry but…”

“You dislocated your shoulder. Slipped on some ice, fell forward, and out it popped.” The man rifled through his bag as he spoke. “Am I correct?”

“I fell backwards.” John said, looking at the man in awe as the man handed him the papers. “I’m John. I can return them to tonight. What is your dorm number?”

“It’s always something. And 221 B, Baker Hall. I am Sherlock. Please do not spill anything on them or damage them. Unlike some other people in this class, I would like to graduate on-time, possibly ahead of it.” 

And with a flourish of his coat, the student left the room, leaving John wondering what exactly had just happened. He returned to his room and began copying the notes, but something was off-putting about them. The handwriting seemed so familiar.

Finally, as he finished the notes, the thought hit him. He searched through the drawers of his desk until he found his last letter from William. The handwriting was an exact match; hell, the pen was the same.

John grabbed his coat and the notes and the letter and ran across the campus to Baker Hall.

***

When John entered the dorm room, his breathing was heavy from sprinting. Sherlock was reading on his bed and he did not look at John. “Set them on the desk.” He mumbled.

John strode towards the man and finally Sherlock set the book on his bedside table. “Is there something else you need?”

“Is your name William?” John wheezed as he tried to control his breathing.

“One of them, yes. My mother insisted that I used it in school. I prefer Sherlock however.” Sherlock’s eyes met John’s, then quickly noticed the letter. His eyes widened. “Where did you get that?”

“You sent it to me. Then you stopped sending them to me. Tell me why and I’ll leave. I want to know why you never wanted to meet me and why you suddenly stopped all contact.” John noticed that Sherlock blushed slightly. 

“I-I was scared. I liked you, had feelings for someone I had never met, and then I noticed your address being here and I-I could not risk it, risk meeting you. I am a freak. Everyone thinks I might kill someone and that I have no emotions. I can determine your life story by looking at your sweater and your shoes. Who would want someone like me?” 

Sherlock looked at his hands as he spoke in a soft, broken voice, but his head snapped to John’s face when the man started laughing. “Sherlock, you are not a freak. You are smart and brilliant. And that is what I knew from the letters. Now I know that you are beautiful and that you actually exist. Now, I am going to do something that I’ve wanted to do for ages.”

John strode to the bed and straddled the taller man, then pulled him by the shirt into a heated kiss. Sherlock was tense at first, but he melted into it. They were both panting by the time John broke the kiss. The two giggled as Sherlock tried to pull John into another kiss. John allowed it. 

“So, I know we may be doing things out of order here, but do you want to go to get some coffee or some dinner? I know a nice Thai place a few blocks from here.” John said finally. 

“I’ll get my coat.” 

The two left 221 B holding hands and grinning like fools.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is not beta'd or brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	24. Questions (Johnlock) (Mystrade)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John had a very important question...for Mycroft.
> 
> Enjoy.

John took a deep breath before he opened the door to a small office in the Diogenes Club. Dealing with Mycroft Holmes was a specific form of torture. For today, however, it was necessary.

“Dr. Watson, how nice to see you. To what do I owe the please?” Mycroft was at his desk, surrounded by papers. He closed a folder and set his pen in its holder. He gestured for John to sit.

“We both know it’s about Sherlock.” John said as he took the offered chair.

“Is this a good or a bad visit?” Mycroft asked nonchalantly as he glanced at his watch. 

“You’ve been spying on me. You should know…” John took another deep breath to stop his nerve to say it. “I want to propose to Sherlock. As is customary, I need a blessing from a relative. I have a ring and everything, but you already know that.”

Mycroft leaned towards John. “How do you suppose that?” He quirked an eyebrow. John gestured at the man’s coat that was hanging across the room. 

“There is a small box with a ring for Greg. I saw you shopping at the shop across from me. Nice choice, I might say.” John grinned. “So, do I have your approval for asking Sherlock for his hand in marriage?”

Mycroft stood from his desk and walked around it to lean intimidatingly over John. “If you hurt him, I will find modes worse than death to punish you. You understand, yes?”

“If I hurt Sherlock, he’ll be the first one to kill me. Actually, he might do that even if I don’t hurt him. Yes, I understand.” John kept his face straight and his tone serious. He wanted to laugh at the situation, but he remained collected.

Mycroft and John then shook hands. “I suppose I will give you permission.” Mycroft flashed one of his rare smiles at the man. “You have been a good influence on him and you too have a nice choice in rings.”

John grinned. “The same goes for Greg, Mycroft. If you hurt him, I will not hesitate to hunt you down, the government be damned. But you have made Greg so happy, so of course I approve.”

John walked to the door as Mycroft returned to his desk. He turned as he placed his hand on the door. 

“Thank you, for this and for him. I love him so much and it seems... right.” John then left the room; an excited manner in his step replaced his previous nervous energy. Anthea then entered the room, grinning at the image she had just seen. She raised an eyebrow.

“Are you planning on marrying Miss Hooper at any moment in the near future? I do believe we might get a deal if we have two or three weddings at the same time.” 

Mycroft did not look at Anthea as he spoke, so he did not see the blush that graced her cheeks. How had he known?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is not beta'd or brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	25. When It Rains... (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I am a terrible person. 
> 
> Please do not hate me for this. 
> 
> I promise that I will fix it tomorrow.
> 
> Enjoy. (Maybe?)

John had been planning the engagement for days. He made sure that Mrs. Hudson was out of the flat; he sent her to see her sister in Wales. He picked up take-away from Angelo’s. He had bought a nice bottle of wine and candles. He cleaned the flat thoroughly, changed sheets, and carefully labeled all of Sherlock’s perishable experiments before putting them in the refrigerator.

All he needed was Sherlock to get home.

When he awoke that morning, the London rain was pouring more than usual and the other side of the bed was cold.

There had been no sign of the detective and John had decided it was one of those days. But, everything would be fine as soon as he saw the warm and shocked smile on his detective. 

He waited patiently, bustling nervously around the flat, until he had to go to the clinic for a few hours; the engagement ring was not going to pay for itself. When he returned, there was still no sign of the detective. 

He texted him, but received no response. He tried calling the detective, but all he heard was a mumbled “I’m busy, John” before the detective promptly ended the call. John, growing a bit panicked, called Molly, who had not seen the man for days and assured John that he was not at the morgue, and Greg, who had not seen him either. He considered calling Mycroft, but he knew Sherlock could not be there, could he? He would never go to his brother unless absolutely necessary.

Again, John simply waited. He watched the television absentmindedly, eventually letting his gaze drift to the rain-spattered window. 

“When it rains, it pours,” he thought as he remembered the old saying that his mother had used so frequently to describe bad occurrences. He then laughed at himself.

Why was he worrying? Sherlock was probably on a private case and had forgotten to tell John. Or maybe it was a top-secret matter? What if Sherlock was hurt, chasing a criminal? What if he had been kidnapped again?

John pushed the thoughts from his mind. He was over-thinking things. Sherlock was probably caught in traffic and would be home any minute. Then he and John would have a nice dinner and John would propose and they would kiss and be happy.  
John breathed a sigh of relief when he saw one of Mycroft’s cars stop in front of the flat. A woman stepped out of the car first, holding an umbrella. John could not see her face clearly, but he knew that it probably was Anthea. Then Sherlock stepped from the vehicle…

And wrapped his arms around her waist. And his head leaned down to kiss her cheek. He was embracing her and kissing her cheek. 

No. It was not possible. John was not seeing his boyfriend kissing someone else, his gay boyfriend kissing a woman, kissing his brother’s assistant, cheating on him. 

John could not tear his eyes from the scene until the separated and Anthea returned to the car. When he did, he could not move his legs and he fell to the ground. 

A mixture of rage and jealousy and anxiety pooled in his stomach. He wanted to vomit, to punch a hole the wall, to throw that blasted ring at Sherlock, to got to his old bedroom, break down, curl into a ball, and cry. He stood on shaky legs as he climbed the stairs to his bedroom. He slammed the door when he heard the front door open and locked it so Sherlock could not enter. 

Then he threw himself onto the bed and let the tears flood his face.

His mother was right. When it rained, it poured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is not beta'd or brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	26. A Proposal for Two (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the happy ending. Sorry for the suspense earlier. I am evil, but I am not that evil.
> 
> Enjoy. :)

Sherlock heard the tell-tale sign of the door slamming when he entered the flat. John was angry about something. He sighed and strode towards John’s room, only stopping for a moment to notice that the flat had been cleaned and organized and that a nice dinner was spread on the table. Angelo’s. 

He pushed the thought of the changes from his mind though. He needed to know what he had done this time.

“John, he called as he knocked on the door. “John, can you open the door?”

There was a loud thump against the door and the shatter of what appeared to be a vase; he was in a throwing things mood. Sherlock knew that he had done something terribly wrong. 

Sherlock decided to take a chance and quickly picked the lock on the door. He opened the door slowly, cautious of any breakable objects. He stepped over the broken shards and walked to the bed, only seeing John.

John. John was...extremely upset. His face was red and his eyes were puffed, the blue color seemed all the more piercing against the red. His hands were clenched and he seemed to be deciding whether to lunge at the detective or to curl into a ball and hope to disappear. 

“John, what’s wrong?” Sherlock wanted to comfort the man, but he abstained. He was the cause of this mess, even if he did not know the cause. He did not want to hurt John any more than he already had.

“Why don’t you fucking deduce it? C’mon, you should be able to figure it out. Surely you haven’t deleted it yet? Just go away, you freak. I need to think.” John’s voice was raw and cracked and it broke Sherlock’s heart. 

Sherlock stayed where he was. John, growing frustrated, left the room. Sherlock stood in front of the bed, numb. When he came to his senses, he rushed out of the room, only to find that John was gone.

He ran out of the flat as fast as he could. Though the rain was pouring, he saw the man limping a few blocks down the street. He let his legs carry him through the piercing drops of rain until he collided with the man.

John, being the former soldier that he was, reflexively punched Sherlock in the stomach. The man dropped like a stone. John genuinely looked surprised as he looked at the doubled-over detective. 

“I hate this so much. Why does it always have to be the one you love the most who breaks your heart. If it can go wrong, it will. And it will go as wrong as possible.” John released a weak laugh. 

Sherlock had recovered by then and stood to look John in the eyes. “John, I am sorry for whatever I did, but if you do not tell me, what am I to do?”

“I saw you kiss Anthea. I saw you hug her. And you were ignoring me all day. What am I supposed to think?”

Sherlock then let out a small laugh. “You think that… Anthea and I? Seriously, John, do you know me at all? Besides, Anthea is… you know what, I’ll explain when we get back to the flat, all right? This is just one large misunderstanding. John, please trust me. I am going to fix this soon.”

The detective took the man’s hand and, hesitantly but as always, John followed.

***

Sherlock made a call as they walked to the fall and, as they approached the door, he pulled John into a passionate kiss in the rain. John, however, was not in the mood. He was confused and he wanted an explanation.

The two returned to the flat and Sherlock made tea as John changed into dry pyjamas. 

They then sat on the sofa and Sherlock took a sip of his tea and began. 

“John, I apologize for everything. First, the blunt phone call today and my absence, I was trying to plan something special for you and I was nervous. Because I am not used to these emotions, I visited Mycroft and Anthea. Anthea is more in touch with her emotions than my brother, so I had a long discussion with her. She helped me convince myself that I could do this. She offered to drive me back here because of the traffic and I wanted to get home as soon as possible. To thank her and to reassure myself, I kissed her cheek and hugged her, which you probably saw, yes? So, now, I am going to do it.”

Sherlock stood and then got down on one knee. He was soaking wet and shivering and his hands shook as he pulled a small box from his coat. 

“John Watson, I love you. I have been in love with you ever since you said ‘brilliant’. I know I am extremely flawed; I have a huge ego and I accidentally cause trouble. Please realize that I will never intentionally hurt you and that you are the only thing keeping me alive, the only thing that makes me feel alive. You are better than any high or any nicotine hit, and I am fine with being addicted to you. Will you please be my husband?”

John was speechless as Sherlock opened the small box. A simple silver band sat nestled in the center. John felt the tears spring from his eyes as he lunged at the man, catching him in a tight embrace. “Oh god yes.” He kissed the man roughly as the detective slipped the band over his finger.

Finally, when the two pulled away from each other, John remembered his proposal. 

“I actually want to say something too. Sherlock, you are the most infuriating, frustrating, crazy, brilliant, insane, and amazing man that I have ever met. You have had me ever since ‘Iraq’. It’s a shame we have waited this long, but I will not waste any more time. I love you so much. Will you marry me?” John too pulled the ring from the box and slipped a simple gold band over the detective’s finger as he nodded. The two kissed again as Sherlock shed his wet jacket. They broke the kiss giggling like children.

“What are the chances?” John asked as they moved to cuddle on the sofa.

“The universe is rarely that lazy John, but I am glad it happened.” Sherlock nuzzled his nose into John’s hair and nipped at the shell of his ear.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, until John asked, “You know, people do not usually kiss each other on the cheek unless they are really close, well, at least in England.”

“Anthea and I are close. She is my sister, after all. I know Mycroft and I are distant, but I have a relatively normal relationship with her.” Sherlock mumbled as he dozed in the warmth of his fiancé. 

John barely registered the comment, but noted it for later. “We will talk about it tomorrow. Right now, I’m exhausted.”

And the two fell asleep, curled together on the sofa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is not beta'd or brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	27. Red (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this seems a bit abstract today. I was in the mood to be poetic.
> 
> Enjoy. (Maybe?)
> 
> Trigger Warning: Mentions domestic violence and alcohol.

John had always seen the colour in a negative light.

That damned colour was that of blood, that of the chapped lips of his friends as they baked in the desert sun, the colour of suffering in the people he helped.

That colour had followed him since his childhood. It was the colour of his mother’s puffed, tear-stained face and the colour on his father’s hands and knuckles. It was the colour of his father’s cheeks after visiting the pub and it was the colour that marked his escape as he laid a rose on his mother and father’s graves. 

It was the colour he saw when he first lost control and nearly beat a man to death over something simple. It became his way of coping. It was the colour that forever followed him, a colour of violence and rage and a tormented suffering as he had no one to blame but himself. All but too soon the colour had faded, becoming almost grey, yet...

Everything changed when he met Sherlock though. The colour, in his mind, grew vibrant when he thought of the man, of his love and passion for his flatmate. Sure, the colour was still dark and gloomy at times, like on that first night with the cabbie, but with Sherlock, it was something… more.

He grew to love the colour, as he grew to love the man who inspired it. It presented itself on his lover’s lips and cheeks in moments of closeness, on rose petals spread on the bedroom floor, dimly lit by golden candles. It was the colour of John’s eyes as he said “I do” as they welled with tears. 

It was the colour of their lips as they promised each other forever. And it was the colour on one’s mouth and face as they said goodbye, the promise broken. 

Such is the colour of John’s life, the colour of pain and pleasure, love and loss, beauty and betrayal. Such is this colour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is not beta'd or brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	28. Baby's First Word (Johnlock) (Mystrade)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mira has a surprising first word...
> 
> Enjoy.

Sherlock and John arrived at the crime scene with a stroller and a diaper bag. They had been unable to find a babysitter on such short notice and Greg had needed to speak to John about some forms from a previous case. Thus, Sherlock held his daughter as the two men talked and as he examined the body.

Mirabelle was almost eighteen months old and she had thick black curls that framed her face and made her blue eyes more pronounced. She had been babbling for months, making small monosyllable noises, and John found it endearing. Sherlock did not. He wanted her to be able to communicate as soon as possible because, frankly, the crying for every need was beginning to irritate him.

The small child hit at her father’s arms, motioning for him to let her onto the ground. Sherlock did so and the child wobbled a bit before gaining her balance. She grasped her father’s arm as he examined the body and she too let her blue eyes scan the scene.

“What do you think, Mira?” Sherlock asked absently as he patted the child’s head and lifted her so he could carry her to John and Lestrade. “I think it is…”

“Murder!” The child suddenly happily exclaimed. She had a bright smile on her face as she hit her father on the cheek with her small hand. “Murder. Murder. Murder.”

“Exactly,” Sherlock praised as John released an exhausted sigh and the DI broke out laughing. 

“Lestrade, I believe my daughter is better than half of your force. As she said, it is murder, most likely a crime of passion. Check the man’s bank statements for signs of an affair.” Sherlock grimaced as his daughter yanked tightly at one of his curls and he handed her to John. She again began to exclaim her new favorite word.

“Let’s go home.” John smiled at his daughter and the three left the scene.

When they returned to the flat and put Mira down for a nap, the two men began giggling. “Of all of her first words, Sherlock. Really? Have you been reading her crime novels behind my back again? Now everyone is going to think that she is a psychopath. The looks on Greg’s and Sally’s faces, however, were hilarious.”

The two of them cuddled on the couch as they continued laughing and as they brainstormed new words that they could teach their daughter. The next word was going to be “brains”, followed by, “Anderson stop talking.”

***

After returning home from the crime scene, Greg Lestrade sat on the sofa with his boyfriend, Mycroft Holmes, recounting the tale. 

“I swear, she is just like him. It makes me want to have kids of my own, you know?” Greg smiled as he stroked his boyfriend’s hair. 

“I would not mind having a child, Gregory. But we will need to discuss this topic later, as I am exhausted.” And the two men retired to their bed.

That night, Greg and Mycroft dreamed of having a family of their own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is not beta'd or brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	29. A Mud Monster (Anthooper)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if these aren't really original/unique. I've been struggling with ideas and I have been inundated with things to do at school.
> 
> But, in any case, here is some fluff.
> 
> Enjoy. :)

Anthea was exhausted when she returned to her flat. The clock on the kitchen microwave read six and Anthea did not know whether it was six in the morning or six at night. The sky was dark at either time, it was raining cats and dogs, and she was too tired to care. 

She had been single-handedly dealing with several crises that day because Mycroft was on a vacation with Greg and she did not want to bother him. When he returned, however, he would be paying for an expensive massage to work the knots out of her aching neck. She would make sure of that. 

She set a kettle of tea and two mugs, hoping that Molly was somewhere in the flat. Anthea just wanted to sleep and the young woman always eased her usual insomnia. As she finished brewing her tea, she heard Molly’s footsteps outside the door and smiled, ready to collapse into her arms as soon as she opened them. 

When the door opened, however, the only thing that could embrace Anthea was a muddy English bulldog. The substance seemed to seep from his wrinkles and he was soaked, something that Anthea realized when it jumped from Molly’s arms and ran to her, knocking Anthea to the ground. The dog licked at her face and spread mud all over the carpet and Anthea’s blouse.

“He was on the side of the street, shivering. I could not let him stay there. It is going to freeze tonight. Anthea, please, can we keep him?” Molly looked at her with big green eyes that could even make Mycroft’s heart melt.

Anthea realized that she loved the woman as she found herself nodding. Molly Hooper was so innocent and childlike, yet she was so intelligent and beautiful. Molly could always make Anthea smile, no matter how terrible work had been, and Anthea just wanted her to be happy.

And if a dog made her happy, then so be it. 

The two bathed the “mud monster” and Anthea dried him as Molly made tea. Anthea then took a shower as Molly played with the dog. She fed him some scraps from the refrigerator. She too took a shower, after Anthea, and walked into their bedroom to get some clothes.

“What should we name…” She immediately stopped and smiled at her girlfriend. 

Anthea was asleep on the bed and the dog was curled next to her. She hugged him loosely as if he were a stuffed animal. Quietly, she took her phone from the table and snapped several pictures. 

Then, she crawled onto the bed and too fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is not beta'd or brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	30. Left Unknown (Johnlock) (Mystrade)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Peyton and to Lion_62 for the wonderful prompts. 
> 
> Now, here is an attempted kidnapping.
> 
> Enjoy. :)
> 
> If you find any errors, please tell me. I am exhausted as I write this (due to new courses and a musical), but I still wanted to submit something today.

Mycroft held his stare with the pair of eyes in front of him, ice meeting sky blue. He sighed impatiently as he waited for his opponent to make a move, to hint at something, anything.

“So, what do you want to do now? We have already played with the dolls...and the preserved beetle shells. Do you want to sleep, take a nap?” 

Mycroft Holmes ran his fingers through his hair as the small child huffed and exclaimed, “Bored.” Yes, the four year-old that was sitting in his den was definitely his niece and, without a doubt, the daughter of Sherlock Holmes.

“May I look for poisonous berries in the garden?” She asked as she continued to stare with her bright blue eyes. “Or we can go to the park, Uncle Myc. I can examine how the other children interact based on my gauge of their intelligence.”

Mycroft chuckled as the child’s face brightened at the thought of experimenting. Even though she caused more harm than good, Mycroft always enjoyed babysitting her while her fathers and Greg worked cases at the yard. She was so much like his younger brother, yet so different. She did not shield her emotions; she had the temper and heart of a Watson. 

***

Mycroft found some shade under one of the large trees in the park and created a “base camp” there. Mira would check with him every few minutes and had to stay within eyesight. Otherwise, they would go directly home and would never go to the park again.

That day, Mira ran to a hiding place so she could observe children, but still remained in Mycroft’s sight. Sighing happily, he opened a new novel and began reading it.

Then he heard the scream, a high pitched scream that could only belong to a little girl being kidnapped.

Mycroft jumped into action as soon as he saw four assailants, all dressed in black, approaching the child. He grabbed his ever-present umbrella and sprinted towards the child.

The first man did not see Mycroft’s foot aiming for his chest. Nor did the second man see the uppercut to the jaw that dislocated several teeth. The third man was slightly faster than the other two and braced himself at the impact of Mycroft. Mycroft fell to the ground, but, as the attacked leaned towards him, Mycroft headbutted the man and stabbed him in the gut with the tip of the umbrella.

Momentarily, Mycroft grimaced at the blood on the umbrella and the stains on his clothes. In this moment, the fourth man stepped from the shadows and delivered a punch that could give a person a concussion. Mycroft again fell and the man moved to finish him, but the attacker fell to the ground as a large stone, thrown by small hands, assaulted his head.

Mycroft stood and brushed the dirt off of his clothes and looked at Mira as his men began cleaning the mess. The child seemed alright. She was scared, but fine. Mycroft had the sudden urge to hug her now trembling form. “I’m going to tell on you,” She protested, but he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the car. He placed a blanket around her and she immediately put her thumb in her mouth. Sherlock had done the same thing when he was a child as a coping mechanism. Like Sherlock when he had the same habit, she was asleep almost instantaneously.

Mycroft smiled as he too closed his eyes, reminiscing. 

***

“How was Uncle Mycroft’s, Mira?” John asked as he set the table. 

The little girl bounced on the balls of her feet in an excited manner. “Uncle Myc beat these bad guys with his umbrella and then I hit- wait, I promised not to tell you.” The child examined her feet, collecting her thoughts. “We went to the park. That’s all. Oh, we played Cluedo too. ”

John cocked an eyebrow and smiled. He did not doubt the stories, but they seemed so...farfetched. Mycroft was a James Bond who needed to be saved by a four-year old?

John, however, knew not to question the things his daughter said. Some secrets were better left unquestioned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is not beta'd or brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	31. Sh...Don't Panic (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy. :)

Sherlock and John had fought earlier that night and John had gone into his and locked the door. Sherlock, not wanting John to sneak out of the flat in the morning, decided to sleep on the sofa. 

Sherlock did not even know why John was mad. He remembered the man yelling to stop touching him and that was all Sherlock knew of the situation. 

Recently the detective had been more physical, gentle brushes on the arm and taking John's wrist when they were running, but that was because Sherlock wanted to show John affection without actually telling him and facing rejection. John had made the point clear that he and Sherlock were just flatmates and that he was definitely NOT gay. Even though Sherlock's feelings, however small, were hurt, he still respected John's wishes.

Sherlock, thus, saw no reason for John to be mad at him. He wasn't trying to force himself on John, so what was the issue?

The detective sighed and closed his eyes. His mind wandered and his heart ached to hold John, to encompass him and never let him go. But, John did not want him. 

His chest was tight and he felt numb. He was cold and stood to search for a blanket. He froze in his endeavors when he heard footsteps come into the room. 

"John, go back to bed. You have work in the morning." Sherlock whispered in a rough voice. He hadn't realized how tight his chest had gotten. 

John shook his head and Sherlock noticed that the doctor's hands were shaking and he favored one leg. His face was covered in sweat and tears and his eyes were frantic, his breathing shallow.

The man was having a panic attack. Sherlock immediately crossed to him and embraced the soldier. The man tensed at the contact but soon relaxed as much as he could. 

After a few minutes, Sherlock led the man back to bed and held him in his arms. He stroked the blond hair softly and pressed a kiss to the man's forehead. The soldier's breathing evened and Sherlock thought he was asleep until he spoke.

"I love you. I had a nightmare and I am in love with you." John whispered. "I'm sorry that I am a terrible person. I yell at you when I love you and I am just...broken. I'm a puzzle that is in pieces. I won't be mad if you want me to leave." John tried to crawl deeper and deeper into the embrace, but he could only do so much.

"John, you should know by now that I love puzzles and challenges and fixing things that interest me and, above all, you. You are amazing and brilliant and beautiful to me. Why would I want you to leave?" Sherlock ran his hand back and forth over the man’s back, leaving John tingling all over his body.

Sherlock hugged the man tighter and he quickly found John pressing their lips together softly. They shared gentle, unhurried kisses until they both fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is not beta'd or brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	32. Falling For You (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry that I did not post yesterday. I have been exhausted (as in running on four hours of sleep and then having to go straight to work) for the last few days. Now, however, I can get back to a regular sleep schedule.
> 
> So, here is a continuation from my last post. I will post another drabble for today so I can return to the schedule.
> 
> Thank you for understanding, given that you forgive me.
> 
> If not, I understand.
> 
> Enjoy. :)

John awoke to a face a black curls tickling his nose and a pair of arms gently wrapped around his waist. His head throbbed and the light hurt his eyes. He felt the familiar post-panic migraine that had been bothering him for years begin to commence.

He hid his face in the pillow and tried to block out all lights and sounds. Especially that sound of the detective breathing softly next to him. The detective that he had definitely NOT kissed last night.

John’s mind started racing as he remembered the events. He had kissed Sherlock. And Sherlock had kissed him back. Sherlock had held him when he was at his weakest point. Sherlock, the man who shunned all emotion, had admitted that he cared.

He cared. 

His pulse began to increase as he panicked for a new reason. A good reason.

John’s heart skipped a beat when he felt the man’s hands run soothingly up his back. It was so simple, just hands brushing over his skin, his clothed skin. So why did such a common gesture send every nerve-ending into overdrive? Why was his heart racing and why was he nervous as he lifted his head to meet those beautiful, indescribable eyes.

Sherlock’s lips were slightly parted in a slight small as he admired John. 

“Good morning,” Sherlock whispered hesitantly. “Ar-are you alright, after last night? If you want to leave, I understand. I do not want you to have a constant sexuality crisis around me. Or we can just forget about this, say that we never said...”

“Sherlock, shut up.” John silenced the detective with a rough kiss, one with more passion than those they shared last night. He had a renewed confidence in himself as he saw the loving look from Sherlock and the sadness in his voice as he spoke of separating. “I have never been more sure of anything in my life.”

“I love you.” Sherlock whispered as he broke the kiss.

“I love you too.” John smiled as he pecked the man’s lips. 

“What do we do now?” Sherlock asked as he tried to stand, but fell from the bed as his long legs were tangled with John’s. He hit his head on the bedside table and started giggling. "I think I am falling for you, John."

“What do we do? We look at your head, put ice on it, and then go on a date.” John laughed as he helped the man to his feet and continued to hold his hand as they walked into the kitchen so he could find a flashlight and the first-aid kit. “Hopefully, it will not be at the hospital.”

“I hear the morgue is a nice place. Maybe not though. From what Molly says, all of the guys that she meets turn out to be stiffs.” Sherlock laughed at his own joke as John dead-panned.

“You need to go to the hospital. I do not want a Sherlock who resorts to terrible puns.” John said. 

“But you said that you loved me. You cannot take it back. Your love is mine now. Maybe I do have a concussion.” Sherlock laughed as he hugged John and kissed his forehead.

John could only agree as he returned the kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is not beta'd or brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	33. The Strong One (Anthooper)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a continuation of one of my earlier chapters in which Anthea and Mycroft have a deep conversation.
> 
> Enjoy.
> 
> Also, thank you all for your kindness and understanding.

"Hi, is this Amy? It's been two years, so you might not remember me. I'm Christopher's mum, if that jogs your memory." The woman sounded older as she answered and rather upset. As soon as she uttered the name, Anthea's breath caught. 

The woman continued, "I know you have probably moved on and I should have called sooner, but I wanted to make sure you are all right. I was going through some photos and remembered that you were so upset that you had to miss the funeral. So, dear, how are you?"

Anthea was silent for a moment. She hadn't been allowed to go to the funeral. The man that had murdered Chris had not yet been captured and...

"I'm better. Thank you. I have a new partner. My brothers introduced us. We are thinking of getting married." Silence. "How are you? Losing Chris must have been terrible for you."

"Time heals all wounds, dear. I still think of him; what would have happened if that driver had not run the light."

"Why waste time on 'what if?' We can't change what happened. I'm sorry to cut this short, but I am getting a call from work. Maybe we could have coffee sometime?" 

The two women then agreed on a promise that they both knew Anthea would not keep. As soon as she ended the call, Anthea let out a broken sob.

She had not thought of him in weeks, months. She had suppressed all of her grief by throwing herself into her work and, now, here she was, ready to break. 

Why were emotions so overwhelming? Why? She felt tears on her face as she stumbled to her wardrobe. She suddenly missed him, missed his touch and his laugh and his smile and his smell. 

She pulled a shirt from a storage bag of his things. It was a few pictures, a red T-shirt, and his dog tags, but it was all she had left of him. 

She remembered holding him as he bled from his chest and she remembered his plea to kiss him one last time, right in the middle of the street as he lay dying.

She had kissed him and stopped when his heart finally faltered.

She let the grief finally consume her. 

*** 

Molly entered the flat to quiet sobs. She entered the bedroom and found Anthea clutching the shirt and the dog tags.

Without saying a word, Molly climbed onto the bed and allowed her girlfriend to curl up to her and sob into her embrace.

The scientist did not ask questions. She simply held her girlfriend until they both fell asleep. Anthea was usually the strong one, but, in this state, Molly knew that it was her turn now. 

She could be strong for Anthea when she needed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is not beta'd or brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	34. Awkward Encounters (Johnlock)(Mystrade)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There, now we are back on schedule.
> 
> Enjoy. :)

Mycroft Holmes had the back of the man's head memorized. He knew that he returned to his mother to get it shaved every week because she always missed the hair right under his ears out of fear of cutting him. His classmate dyed it black in order to obtain a punk look, but his roots were a chocolate brown, the same color as his eyes. His ears were pierced and his metal cuffs in the shapes of snakes clinked on the desk when he wrote. 

The man was not normal in any aspect, but Mycroft Holmes was desperately and irrevocably attracted to him. 

When he had first walked into the lecture, Mycroft's heart had skipped a beat and had continued to assume an erratic rhythm at even a thought of his eyes. 

Mycroft's heart nearly stopped when Gregory Lestrade approached him after the lecture. "I noticed that you have been admiring the back of my head for weeks. Want to give the front a chance?"

The man smiled at him genuinely and Mycroft's mouth went dry as he scrambled out of his seat, only to trip over the chair. Gregory helped him to his feet and sparks went through Mycroft's body. Unable to feel his legs, he followed Gregory out of the room.

And that was how, a few months later, he was making out with Greg Lestrade in the older man's dorm when John Watson opened the door.

"Gosh Greg, give us some notice if you are going to have your boyfriend in the room. C'mon Sherlock." John whined as he noticed Greg straddling the younger man.

"Sherlock?" Mycroft said as he hurriedly got to his feet.

Both brothers stood in various states of undress: Mycroft's shirt was rumpled and his trousers were open whereas Sherlock's shirt had fallen to the floor and his shoes had been kicked across the room upon entering.

"We will never speak of this again." They said in unison as a blush crept onto their faces.

"Mycroft and John should switch rooms. That would make things less strange." Greg finally suggested as a silence followed. 

"Anything, as long as Mummy does not hear about this." The two men said. They glared at each other for being so alike, then dressed themselves. 

John and Sherlock left to go to Sherlock and Mycroft's room. As soon as they left, Greg proceeded to unbutton Mycroft's shirt and kiss him.

He flashed a mischievous smile, "Now, where were we?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is not beta'd or brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	35. Handcuffs (Johnlock) (Mystrade)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to lion_62 for the wonderful prompt.
> 
> Enjoy.

Sherlock had cornered John as soon as he had returned from the clinic. He had pressed the doctor against the wall and quickly removed his shirt and jumper, letting them fall to the floor as he snogged the man senseless. 

“What has gotten into you?” John asked breathily as Sherlock began to attack his neck.

The slow brush of the man’s lips over his skin sent sparks through his body and John left out a small moan as Sherlock went to remove his own shirt.

“I finished the case. Chased the man for five kilometers in the sewer. Almost got shot twice.” The man was practically jittery. “Now, trousers. I have a surprise.”

He was high on the adrenaline, John realized. Well, at least it was not drugs. Sherlock was usually like this after cases, but he had never seen him this...horny. John was happy to oblige. 

As soon as they were undressed, their clothes scattered about the room, Sherlock produced a pair of handcuffs. From where, John did not know, but at that moment, he only cared about getting to the bedroom.

***

John, however, did care fifteen minutes later, when Gregory Lestrade, Sally Donovan, and damned Anderson were standing in the doorway of their bedroom. They had yet to tell anyone of their relationship and all three of the Yarders were shocked.

John was handcuffed to the headboard and Sherlock held a riding crop in his hands and they were both naked. John tried to cover himself but was incapacitated due to said handcuffs, handcuffs that belonged to a Gregory Lestrade. A redness crept onto his cheeks and he buried his face into a pillow, crying, "Greg, please go away."

Sherlock simply huffed and sat on the bed as he watched the detectives. “What do you want? I am in the middle of something. If this is a drug bust, you will find nothing. If this is about the handcuffs, the look on your face tells me that you want us to keep them.”

“Your brother called to tell me to check on you. You’ve been acting strange lately. I can see why. We’ll let ourselves out.” Greg flashed John a weak smile as he backed out of the room.

As soon as the closed behind him, Greg did a victory dance similar to those he did when his rugby team won a match. He had a goofy grin on his face. “I am so glad they finally got together. Now they will stop flirting with each other over dead bodies.” Greg sighed as he ran his fingers through his hair and looked at his colleagues.

Sally was grinning mischievously as Anderson and Anderson looked pained. Greg flashed her a questioning look and Sally smiled more.   
“Anderson here owes me fifty quid. And he’s getting me coffee every day for a month. Nice coffee, not the office stuff.” With a bounce in her step, she left the room to go speak to the landlady about the bets that she had placed. There were so many people at the Yard who were going to lose money.

Greg and Anderson stood in the room, still processing the situation. 

Finally, Greg lightly hit Anderson on the back. “It’s just fifty quid. You can skip a weekend at the bar with us, if it’s the money that bothers you.”

The man’s head snapped towards the DI. “I need to gouge out my eyes. How do I unsee that? Oh my gosh, I now have a graphic description of the sex life of Sherlock Holmes.”

From the bedroom, the shouting of “knives are in the third drawer from the refrigerator” were heard. Greg began laughing hysterically. Of course Sherlock would hear that comment. Then he heard the crack of leather on skin and a loud moan from John and decided that they needed to leave.

Anderson followed him gloomily. 

Greg, however, could not wait to tell Mycroft. The British government would definitely be shocked, he knew, and he also could not wait to use his handcuffs when he returned home to the man that evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is not beta'd or brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	36. Authority (Johnlock)(Mystrade)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To the lovely Hrothgar for the prompt suggestion. 
> 
> Enjoy.

The Holmes brothers were, once again, in a heated argument at 221 B Baker Street. 

John and Greg had simply wanted to watch the rugby match in peace with a few beers and unhealthy food. The brothers, however, had other plans.

The bickering was initially tolerable. For the first half-hour of the match, they glared at each other and muttered curses in other languages. 

Then they decided to play a game of chess. The two men could not understand how a simple game of chess could soon turn into a full-out fight between the two. They only knew that Sherlock accused Mycroft of cheating, that Mycroft had denied it, and that one of them, probably Sherlock, grabbed the harpoon from the wall and started swinging it wildly.

The men had enough when the spear was embedded just above the television. John and Greg stood and turned to their respective boyfriend and glared. 

“Sit on the sofa and do not say a word. That is an order.” The authority in both voices made the Holmes brothers shiver out of something other than fear. They followed the instructions silently, watching their boyfriends as they returned to watching the game.

On a commercial, John glanced at the brothers. Mycroft’s face was bright red and Sherlock was definitely have troubles with the tightness of his trousers. Sherlock’s shirt had been opened and John’s dog tags caught the sunlight that streamed through the window.

Greg noticed these problems at the same time. “So, you and Sherlock? You are...”

“I was a military man, Greg. I know how to command people. So, you and Mycroft...do something similar?” John focused on Sherlock and how he was squirming in his seat. 

“I’m a detective inspector. It is my job to control others.” Greg nudged John shoulder as he focused on his boyfriend who too seemed rather uncomfortable. “Well, we can talk about this over drinks. I think that I should get him home.”

The two men then left; John realized that Mycroft had not uttered a single word since the outburst. He then turned to Sherlock who was now panting.

“So, it seems that you and your brother are not that different.” John smiled as he straddled the taller man on the sofa. “You both seem to have an authority kink.”

“I am nothing like my brother.” Sherlock breathed. “John, please.”

“Since you asked so nicely…” John pulled the man into a rough kiss and smiled. The Holmes brothers never ceased to amaze him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is not beta'd or brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	37. His Promise (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John after Sherlock's suicide...
> 
> Trigger Warning: Suicide, Implied Suicide Attempt, Grief

John Watson was losing his mind. For months, he had been hearing the faint sound of a violin or the whispered mumbling to a skull. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, he swore that a figure stood over him, guarding him as he slept, only to disappear when he had gained enough consciousness to search for it, for him.

Sherlock had died months ago. No note, just a phone call and a show. 

John was numb with the grief. He lost weight; what was the point in eating when the one person who gave him meaning was gone?

As the months progressed, he would occasionally see him, hiding in the shadows, but he grew to ignore his ghost. He went a few months without seeing him, but soon the activity would appear again, only to disappear once more.

He knew he was hallucinating, but he did not care. It gave the soldier hope that, soon, he would see his hellish angel and they would be together forever.

***

He was hallucinating again, but this one was especially vivid. The figure had appeared in the flat and had talked to the soldier and had hugged him. The figure slept in his bed beside him and refused to leave his side. He was so warm...

But John knew that it wasn't real, that he wasn't real. No, he was dead, had been dead for almost two years. 

So he did what he had learned to do: he ignored the illusion and tried to function as best as he could. 

After a few days, Mrs. Hudson appeared in the flat. She always checked on John every few days to make sure that he hadn't...

"John, dear, why didn't you tell me that Sherlock was back?" John had been reading the paper and Sherlock was sitting opposite him.

The paper fell from his hands as he blinked at Mrs. Hudson. "You can see him too?" 

Mrs. Hudson nodded and stepped back into the doorway. "I'll leave you two alone." She then closed the door behind her.

"John-" Sherlock whispered as John stood and moved to tower over the man. "I'm sorry..."

John grabbed Sherlock by his collared shirt and pulled him into a deep kiss that ended in John sobbing into Sherlock's chest. 

"I missed you so much. Promise to never leave like that again."

Sherlock held his soldier, now vulnerable, tightly in his arms. "I promise."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is not beta'd or brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy. :)


	38. Separation (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part one of two. Part two will be posted later today; I held off for today's post because I hate suspense, so you probably do too.
> 
> Thank you (again!) to the lovely lion_62 for the idea.
> 
> Enjoy. :)

John Watson sat on the sofa as he regarded the letter. His hands were sweaty and his eyes were red. 

He was being sent to Afghanistan. He was being sent to Afghanistan and he had to tell Sherlock. 

He tried to compose himself as he heard Sherlock on the stairs, excited and high from a solved case.

He turned to the man as he heard the door open, "Sherlock, we need to talk..."

***

John held Sherlock the entire day before he was scheduled to leave. They stayed in their bed the entire day; they made love, let the sobs overcome them and eventually laughed madly as they gazed into each other's eyes; whatever they did, they were always touching and always relishing in the other's company.

"I love you so much, Sherlock." John said as he felt the pull of sleep and dread for the next day overcome him. He pulled the man closer to him and buried his nose in the man's curls. "Promise me you won't change."

"John, you know I can't make that promise when you know you can't make it either." Sherlock's voice was cold and logical. He was already distancing himself from his emotions, his love, his everything. He then whispered into John's shoulder as he curled into it. "Try not to change too much."

"I promise." They were silent for a moment. "I don't want to go. I don't want to hurt you." His voice was so soft and seemed so broken that it was almost uncharacteristic of the future soldier.

Sherlock thought for a moment. "Don't wake me up when you leave tomorrow." He whispered. "I can pretend that you're not gone. To me, you'll be at the store or the clinic or you're mad at me for ignoring you. Then, I'll be okay and you won't be thinking of me and we can somehow manage these next two years without each other."

John silently agreed; he was unable to speak as he felt a lump form in his throat.   
"I love you, Sherlock." 

"I love you too, John. See you in the morning." 

Only when Sherlock was asleep did he let the tears fall endlessly.

***

Mycroft called Sherlock into his office. The detective had just solved a case and was able, barely though, to tolerate whatever his brother wanted. He needed another distraction, anything to keep his mind from John, John who had left two years earlier, whose name he had on his lips as he awoke from his nightmares in what little sleep he had managed.

"Brother," Sherlock nodded as he took the seat he was offered. "What do you want?"

"It seems, dear brother, that I have news for you. I apologize to bring bad news,but your dear John has been shot."

No. No, this was not happening. Sherlock tried to get to his feet, but he fell to his knees. His brother caught him as the shock and fear overcame him.

Why did emotions have to exist?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is not beta'd or brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy. :)


	39. Together (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the continuation from my last post.
> 
> Again, thank you to lion_62 for the prompt.
> 
> Enjoy. :)

Sherlock raced through the hallways of the hospital. He had to see him; he had to see John.

Mycroft had agreed to transfer John to London if Sherlock worked a case in Sweden for him and, after 26 days with the Swiss and a month since John’s injury, Sherlock was going to see him again.

Sherlock’s plane had only landed minutes earlier and he ran the entire way to the hospital. His lungs burned and his legs ached; his body was exhausted. His energy was renewed, however, as a nurse gave him a room number. 

Sherlock finally found the door and gently pushed it open.

***

John Watson had fallen asleep in a field hospital in Afghanistan and awoke in a London hospital. He did not know the date; he did know, however, that the pain in his shoulder was excruciating and that whatever medicine he had been given were not enough.

He called for a nurse.

She was perky and cheerful and smitten with him. She gently stroked his arm as she spoke and smiled at him too much. In the past, he would have asked for her number, but there was only one person on his mind, the only person who was always in his thoughts and his dreams.

And that man was now standing in the doorway of the room, breathing heavily.

***

Sherlock could not help but deduce that the nurse was attracted to John. A wave of possessiveness overtook him as he rushed to the soldier’s side. He stopped, looked at her, and whispered into her ear, “He’s mine.”

The nurse promptly left the room.

Sherlock then turned to his soldier. His face was flushed and his curls disheveled from running, but his eyes were like stars as he threw his arms as best he could around the soldier, his soldier.

John brought his good arm around the detective and kissed his curls. The medications were starting to make him drowsy, but he tried to stay awake for the man he loved. “Hey ‘Lock. Missed you.”

“John, how long does it take to get milk from the store? I could have sworn you were gone for about two years.” Sherlock grinned at the man, but rested his head on the man’s good shoulder. He ran his fingers lightly across the bandage. Tears inexplicably formed in his eyes. “I-I missed you too. I love you so much and I am never letting you leave me again. I’ll be the one who gets shot, not you.”

“Sher-” 

“No. I will do anything to protect you because you are a good man, John. I am not a good man, but you make me want to be a good man and I am so glad that I did not lose you.” Sherlock laughed at the small sob that escaped his throat. 

John rubbed small circles on his back until the detective had calmed. The doctor was so sleepy; he could not fight the medicine. He tightened his arm around the man and let sleep take him. Sherlock too was suddenly so overcome by exhaustion and comforted by the scent of John that his eyelids fluttered closed.

***

Mycroft sighed as he walked into the hospital room of the soldier. His brother was curled up on the former medic’s hospital bed and the man had his arm protectively on Sherlock’s waist. He took several photos on his phone, telling himself they were for either a wedding or future blackmail.

Really, they were adorable and, though he did not want to admit it, Mycroft Holmes enjoyed seeing his brother so happy and so… loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is not beta'd or brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	40. Fear Me! (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is silly and nonsensical.
> 
> I have no idea how this happened. I think it is sleep deprivation. 
> 
> Enjoy.

John should have never left the flat that morning.

If he hadn’t have left, he would not have returned to this...insanity. 

Sherlock had been recently been diagnosed with a concussion. He had some minor amnesia, but he seemed fine; he had deduced that Lestrade was seeing a woman with red hair and that Sally and Anderson had been caught by his wife. 

Now, however, John realized that Sherlock was definitely not fine.

The curtains were drawn and the lights off, leaving the room in almost total darkness. The sofa had been turned to face the wall and a blanket was nailed to the wall and draped over the back of the sofa. Something, the harpoon upon later investigation, supported the small fort. John sighed and resigned himself to whatever Sherlock was doing. He turned to put the kettle on the stove…

And was greeted by a tall, hooded figure.

“Sherlock, what are you doing?” John said as he pushed past his detective. 

“I am not Sherlock. I am the dark lord. Fear me. Bow to me.” 

“I will not; you know that I have bad knees. Now, do you want tea or not?” John heard no reply, but set out two mugs anyway.

Suddenly, he felt two arms around his waist and he was being lifted and carried. He panicked for a moment, but then remembered that this was Sherlock and that Sherlock would never hurt him, right? Anyway, Sherlock deposited John in his chair and quickly tied his feet to the legs of it. “That will teach you.” Sherlock mumbled as he crawled into his small cave by the sofa. 

John waited for no signs of movement to untie himself and pour the tea. He set the mug on the floor and peered under the blanket. There, Sherlock had taken all of the pillows in the house and had created a nest of sorts. He was curled into a ball on the pile of pillows, clutching John’s jumper and trying to block any incoming light.

John smiled at the child-like image of his boyfriend and went to retrieve a few paracetamol tablets. He administered them to the pained detective after crawling into the fort and held the man until he fell asleep. 

He and Sherlock were going to have talk when he awoke about concussions, how not to use the harpoon recreationally, and limits on watching Harry Potter while concussed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is not beta'd or brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	41. Home (Anthooper)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost forgot that Molly is actually a doctor too...
> 
> Enjoy. :)

Anthea felt terrible, but the government was literally depending on her. 

Her head throbbed and she could feel the aches and pains in her joints increase with each passing second. She was exhausted and nauseous. She had not been able to eat any food, or even look at it really, without feeling extremely ill.

She stood in Mycroft’s office as he signed papers and she typed something on her phone. She shivered uncontrollably; she was freezing.

“Anthea,” Mycroft said. He had repeated her name three times already and she had yet to respond. She looked towards him with a blank expression and he sighed, standing and walking to her. He placed a hand on her forehead before dropping his hand and whispering, “You have a fever. Go home. Get well. I can manage.”

Anthea protested and, she thought, won the right to stay until the end of the day. 

She had different thoughts as soon as Molly rushed into Mycroft’s office. She had an angry but worried look on her face that made Anthea want to hug her and take her to bed, if she had not been so ill that she had to close her eyes to stop the world from spinning. 

Molly rushed to Anthea’s side and, being a doctor at heart, took her girlfriend’s vitals and examined her. 

“You are ill. My prescription is you going home and letting me take care of you.” Molly smiled as she kissed the top of Anthea’s head. 

Anthea, at any other time, would have been upset to have her girlfriend there because it would distract from her work; now, however, she was glad that she had someone who cared for her who was going to help her recover. 

Anthea played the role of patient rather stubbornly. Molly took her phone and her laptop and refused to let her do any work. Anthea, in a Holmesian manner, sulked around the flat until finally choosing the sofa as a refuge. With some coaxing, and kisses and tea, Molly was able to get the woman to take her medicine.

Anthea had recovered after a few days but was still feeling weak, so she had decided to stay home one more day when she heard her phone ring. Molly quickly answered it and smiled as she ended the call.

Anthea gave her an inquisitive look as the scientist sat on the sofa and Anthea rested her head on her lap.

“Greg said that both Mycroft and Sherlock are sick with the flu. I guess it is spreading.” Molly ran her finger through Anthea’s hair, then suddenly stopped and turned so she could sneeze. “I blame you for this.” She said finally. 

Anthea smiled at Molly; it would be her turn to take care of the other now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is not beta'd or brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	42. His Fault (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, this post was supposed to be simple fluff. I did not intend to go so... deep. 
> 
> Enjoy.

Looking back, Sherlock had brought everything upon himself. He had started it. John hadn't meant for him to get hurt.

It had started harmless enough; Sherlock was testing John's threshold for Sherlock. He began playing the violin more and judged John's reaction. 

Then, he moved to sleeping in John's bed while he was at the clinic. This did not annoy John in the least; Sherlock identified a sense of affection from John when he had draped a blanket over the supposedly-sleeping detective.

John, however, drew the line with the contamination associated with eyes in his tea and fingers in the jam. He had repeatedly told Sherlock to stop putting the body parts with the food and was annoyed with the man's behavior. When he found Sherlock's notes on the subject, he vowed revenge.

The perfect moment arose one day when John was reading the paper though he would never admit that the comics gave him the idea. Sherlock was, once again, deep in his mind palace and did not notice as John tied his shoelaces together.

Hours later, Sherlock broke from his trance-like state and jumped to his feet, attempting to run for the door. Instead, he fell and hit his head on the table. John's laugh stopped as the detective rolled onto his side to reveal a bloody gash. 

"Boyfriend...I solved the case. The table did it." Sherlock frowned at the words, then looked at John. "I think I have a... what's the word when you hit your head and jostle your brain? That. It is that."

The gash on his head was shallow and did not need stitches. Sherlock did, however, have a mild concussion. Sherlock had a concussion and it was John's fault, so he decided to keep watch over the man and wake him every four hours to make sure he had no lasting brain damage.

***

After staying awake through the night, John was exhausted. He woke Sherlock again, who mumbled and rolled away from John. He was irritable and had a headache.

"Sherlock, I need to check your eyes."

Sherlock mumbled something into the pillow.

"I can't understand you like that. Talk towards my face."

Sherlock, in a flash, rolled to face John. His tone was accusing. "It's because you think my eyes are pretty. That's why you're doing this. You know I'm fine, but you like examining me because you love me."

"Sherlock, I am not gay. I am a doctor." John sighed as he examined the man's pupils. They were beautiful, his eyes. They seemed to absorb light and reflect the rainbow. One could almost see his soul in them.

They were silent as John finished his examination and gave Sherlock a pill for his headache. Finally, as Sherlock rolled onto his side, he spoke.

“I love you, you know.You may not be gay, but I am and I am in love with you. No, ‘in love’ is not it. Ugh. I hate words. What is it? Oh yes, infatuated. I am infatuated, obsessed, completely attached, and dependent upon you. I want to protect you and care for you, but that is what love is, isn’t it? Caring for someone at all costs, wanting to protect them from the future until someone dies and then dreaming, continuing to live in hopes of seeing that person in some realm beyond death. I want that, even if it is...sappy? I believe that’s the word. Anyway, I want that with you. But, you do not feel the same.”

John sat there speechless, looking at his flatmate’s back. When he finally regained some composure, he whispered, “Of course I love you, Sherlock. I thought...I thought you would never want me.” 

He moved to touch his flatmate’s shoulder, but Sherlock was already asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is not beta'd or brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	43. His Confession (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A continuation from yesterday's post, as requested by the lovely lion_62.
> 
> Enjoy.

Sherlock’s head ached as the sun fell onto his face. The skin on his forehead was tender as he touched it. 

“How did I get…” And then he remembered. He remembered everything. He had fallen and let John care for him and he had said…

Sherlock had told John that he loved him. But, what had John said? The one detail that he could not remember was the most important.

Would John think it was a joke, a delusion? What if he left? What if he did not remember? Sherlock could only hope.

Sherlock tensed as he rolled onto his other side and accidentally pushed John out of the bed. He had been hanging precariously over the edge, still in his clothes from the previous day. The army doctor landed with a thud on the floor and a small groan escaped his lips.

“William Sherlock Scott Holmes…one of these days, you are going to kill me.” John sighed as he stood and stretched. He walked to the doorway and stopped, turning to smile gently at Sherlock. “C’mon. I need to check your head. I’ll make tea.”

They sat at the table in an awkward silence. John kept stealing glances at Sherlock and these glances grew more confused and worried at Sherlock grew more agitated. Finally, John cleared his throat and stared at the empty mug in his hands. 

“So, last night. I’m sorry I gave you a concussion. Are you mad at me? Is that why you aren’t talking?” John’s voice was almost a whisper. 

“John, I-” Sherlock stood and dropped his eyes to his feet. “I have an experiment...with feet...to do. I’ll-” Suddenly, John was pressing Sherlock against the counter, caging him with his arms. Sherlock gave the man a startled look and John immediately released him.

“Sherlock, what do you and do you not remember?” He asked softly as his eyes met Sherlock’s. Sherlock could almost see them preparing for disappointment, for another rejection from another love interest and possibly the most important one of all. Sherlock decided to take a stab in the dark.

“I remember everything but your response.” Sherlock whispered and his voice wavered. “I still meant everything I said. If you don’t want to stay-”

Sherlock was immediately silenced with John’s lips on his. 

The kiss was slow and sensual and John rested his hands lightly on Sherlock’s hips as Sherlock pulled the soldier deeper and deeper into it.  
Finally, they separated and began giggling uncontrollably. Finally, John, as he pressed his forehead against Sherlock’s chest, smiled and said, “I said that I love you, Sherlock. I always have and I always will.”

John then took Sherlock’s hand and began walking towards Sherlock’s bedroom. They had to make up for the time that they had lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is not beta'd or brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	44. His Everything (Mystrade)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even though I detest the thought of Valentine's Day, it still provides the world with fluffy ideas for stories. 
> 
> Enjoy.

Mycroft Holmes jolted awake in his bed, scrambling out of the cover of the duvet. Sweat clung to his body and the cold winter chilled his newly exposed skin. The clock read midnight.

He sighed as he regained a sense of his surroundings. He was home. He was not in the warehouse anymore. He was...safe? Well, he was safe from outside threats. Regarding his safety from himself, however, he had his doubts. 

The past week had been literal hell. He had been kidnapped, drugged, ransomed, beaten, and nearly killed in a raid led by his boyfriend, Gregory Lestrade. 

A battered Mycroft had returned from the hospital the previous day, but he had been capable of little rest. All he could remember was the warehouse: the cold floor that stung his skin, the burning in his veins, the aching in his joints, the craving for more…

He pushed the thoughts from his head. He was not an addict and he was not scarred. He simply needed a distraction. He tried calling Anthea for some of his missed paperwork and cases, but she vehemently refused to give him anything work-related until the first of the week. It was only Friday.

He changed pajamas and made himself a cup of tea, slowly nursing it as he wandered his empty townhouse. It was lonely and cold; he did not want to sleep. 

Just as he had decided to try to leave over taking more pain medicine, he heard a knock on the door. He opened it slowly to find Gregory Lestrade standing on his doorstep. 

“Hey, how are you feeling?” He said as he entered the house, holding something behind his back. 

“I-” Suddenly, Greg produced from behind his back a small box of pastries and a bouquet of red roses. “Oh Gregory.” He smiled at the gesture.

“Mycroft, I know this is a bit early, but I have never been one for tradition and I intend on staying here for the next few days, so...Happy Valentine’s Day. I love you, Myc.” Mycroft set the items on a side table and leaned down to kiss his Inspector. 

“I love you too, Gregory.” Mycroft murmured as he wrapped his arms around the men and rested his head on his shoulder. The taller man was suddenly overcome with exhaustion; the events of the week now seemed to descend upon him and he could barely keep his eyes open. 

Greg chuckled as he lifted the man, carrying him like a child. Mycroft clung to him and rested his head on Gregory’s shoulder as he was carried up the stairs. Mycroft was then tucked into the bed with Greg beside him.

As Mycroft drifted to sleep, his head on the man’s chest, he whispered, “I’m so glad you’re here. You make everything better. You are my everything. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is not beta'd or brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	45. The Fire in His Heart (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In celebration of Valentine's Day...
> 
> Enjoy. :)

Valentine’s Day. 

For years, Sherlock had watched silently and alone from his regular table at Angelo’s, just observing the couples who drank to their happiness and those few souls who drank to their loneliness. He was indifferent. How could one who had not known love feel sorry for its loss?

He was simply sick of the holiday. Why did people think that one day out of any other required someone to reiterate one’s love for one’s partner?

He and John had been an official couple for less than a year and Sherlock expected to feel different, to experience the strange notion to do something for John. But he did not. He already loved John as much as he could. If he could feel any more love for the soldier, he might die from an overdose on emotion.

He laughed at the thought as he examined his feet on the worn bricks as he walked home. 

He, Sherlock Holmes, the self-proclaimed sociopath, was addicted to emotion, to love. But what was love? He knew he did not feel “love” as others did. His idea of love was a combination of loyal protection for his soldier and a total adoration for him. 

When he entered the flat, the lights were off, yet a light filled the room. In the room were hundred of tea candles with flames that ranged from bright reds to brilliant yellows.

“John,” He called as he removed his coat and shoes. He examined the candles and noticed the small containers of various powdered compounds on the kitchen counter in a basket that contained small pieces of lab equipment. Lithium chloride made the red, potassium chloride created the purple, and sodium carbonate created the yellow. A row of test tubes was nestled beside the containers, as was a new Bunsen burner.

Sherlock felt overcome by the gesture. It was small, but it showed how John knew that Sherlock preferred chemistry over flowers. 

He jumped as he felt two arms encircle his waist and lips on his neck. “I missed you. Do you like it?” John whispered as the detective turned in his arms and kissed him in return.

“John, I- I don’t know what to say.” Sherlock said finally. “Thank you... for everything. I love you.” 

John smiled and took Sherlock’s hand and kissed it softly. “I love you too.” They slowly navigated their way to the bedroom, where Sherlock found more candles on nearly every available surface. The coloured flames were beautiful.

John pressed Sherlock against the wall and delivered a fierce kiss as he quickly undid the man’s shirt button. Sherlock tried to help, but John batted the hand away, causing Sherlock’s cuff to come into contact with one of the open flames. 

John immediately stepped back and Sherlock whined in protest. Then Sherlock began flailing his arms as he realized that he was on fire. 

John jumped into action as he pulled the man away from the flames and threw a blanket over Sherlock, smothering the flames. 

Sherlock's injuries were not serious, though his skin was slightly singed. John applied some ointment to the injury, then the two extinguished every candle in the flat.

They finally fell onto the sofa, laughing.

"Wait until we tell Greg." John said. 

"And you say my experiments are dangerous. I'm not letting you near fire ever again." Sherlock smiled as he playfully hit John. He dropped his hand. "Thank you for saving me. I did not know how to react."

"I would jump into an inferno for you, you know?" Sherlock said seriously as he locked eyes with John. "I would go to Hell if it meant you would be safe. I would do that and so much more, John. I would die if you asked me. That is how happy you make me."

"Sherlock..." John breathed as Sherlock leaned to kiss him. 

Sherlock smiled into the kiss and pulled the doctor to his feet. "Let's go to bed." 

John agreed with a silent nod and Sherlock kissed him again.

Valentine's Day was starting to grow on Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	46. Me Too (Anthooper)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The third and final installment of these couples for Valentine's Day.
> 
> I give you... Anthea and Molly.
> 
> Enjoy.

The week had been absolutely hectic. Anthea had been scrambling trying to locate Mycroft after he had been kidnapped and had been doing his work until he was able to return. She had even been involved in the rescue mission and had received a black eye during a scuffle with one of the men. It still ached.

To make matters worse, she had not slept in days and had not received one word from Molly since she left for work on the previous Tuesday.

They had fought on that Tuesday. Molly had expressed her dislike of Anthea never being home and Anthea had taken offense and stormed out of the flat with a cool expression that hid the inner conflict of her emotions. Which love would she pick, her work or her lover?

Anthea felt even more guilty because she had missed Valentine’s Day. 

She crept into the flat with a bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolates. The clock read eleven at night on February 15. She set the peace offerings on the table and moved to put a pillow on the sofa. 

She debated going to get her bed clothes, but she risked confronting Molly and she was too tired to defend herself.

She was so tired that she did not notice the soft footsteps on the hardwood floor. She turned when she heard a soft voice, quiet and broken, behind her. “‘Thea?”

Suddenly, arms were wrapped around her waist and Molly had her face buried in Anthea’s neck, sobbing softly. “I thought you had left. I’m so sorry. It was stupid of me…” 

Anthea stopped the woman by kissing her softly and sensually on the lips.

Anthea then wrapped her arms around Molly and breathed in the woman’s scent until she was dizzy; she had missed Molly more than she thought and, apparently, so had the scientist.

“I’m sorry, for everything.” Anthea whispered as she held the scientist. They swayed together in silence for a few moments, savoring in the company of the other, dancing to a silent song. 

“Let’s go to bed.” Molly whispered as she led Anthea into the bedroom. She gasped slightly at the large bruise on Anthea’s eye, but did not say a word. She simply crawled into the bed beside her girlfriend and kissed the injury. 

They simply held each other and gazed into understanding eyes. Finally, Anthea giggled slightly and whispered, “Happy Valentine’s Day.” 

“What’s so funny?” Molly smiled as she kissed Anthea’s forehead.   
“I’m so happy.” Anthea stared at Molly, her eyes vibrant despite the exhaustion. 

Molly’s smile only grew as she whispered in return, “Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	47. Jealous (Johnlock) (Mystrade)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the idea of how Sherlock would react to John cheating popped into my head...
> 
> Enjoy.
> 
> Warning: Cheating, Alcohol Consumption

Sherlock slammed John against the wall and kissed him until they were both panting. He pulled at John’s shirt until his neck was revealed, then bit at the skin until a light bruise began to form.

“You. Are. Mine.” His eyes were angry and on the verge of tears. His voice cracked. “John, you said that you were mine and only mine.” 

Sherlock then delivered a backhanded slap to John’s face before going into the bedroom and slamming the door shut. 

John sank to the ground and wondered how he had gotten into this situation. 

***

Greg and Mycroft had invited the two to have dinner at Mycroft’s (and Greg’s) townhouse. Sherlock and Mycroft had been arguing as the two watched the game and John and Greg had decided to play a drinking game.

Every time a boyfriend made a deduction, the partner would take a shot. Every time they said something in another language, it was another shot. Every time the words cake, fat, sociopath, and intelligence were mentioned, both would take two shots.

The liquor was strong and the two men became very intoxicated very quickly. They finally gave up following the conversation and left the brothers to their fight.

“Don’t you get tired of him spending more time with his brother than you?” Greg said as the brothers finally left the room to continue their argument as they fetched dessert and coffee. 

“Don’t you? At least you did not think that he was cheating on you at one point.” John retorted, remembering the incident with Anthea. Jealousy still flared slightly at his heart.

“I admit, it’s lonely. I don’t remember the last time he kissed me.”

“You’re drunk. You can’t remember your name.” John laughed.

“It’s Gavin… no, it’s Greg. But it has been at least a week and I get lonely. I just want a kiss or two, with or without the tongue. Is that too much to ask?” Greg set his glass on the table and grinned at John. “How do you think they would react if we kissed? Would they get jealous, do you think?”

“Would they notice is the question.” John smiled. He turned to set his glass beside Greg’s and then found the DI pressing his lips to his. It was sloppy and John immediately pushed the Inspector off of him. Greg fell to the floor and groaned in pain.

“Greg, you are drunk. Go to bed and sleep and never try to kiss me again.” John said as he stood on weak knees. He turned his head when he heard the crash of a platter of various French cheeses and saw the two brothers standing in the doorway.

Mycroft’s face was filled with concern for his drunk partner, whereas Sherlock’s gaze was cold and menacing. He muttered something to Mycroft, then grabbed John roughly by the jumper and pulled him out of the room.

The cab ride to the flat was silent. John tried to apologize, but his speech was slurred and his head ached. He followed Sherlock up the stairs and, before he knew it, had a stinging cheek and a hurt Sherlock. 

Oh, he was in a world of trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	48. Resolution (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A continuation of my last post...
> 
> Enjoy.

John's shoulder ached and his head throbbed as his body hit the ground with a thud.

What had happened? Oh, Greg had kissed him. That's why he was sitting against their bedroom door. He had inadvertently hurt Sherlock.

Now, he was staring at the man from the ground because Sherlock had opened the door and John had fallen.

Sherlock quickly stepped over the doctor and made his way to the kitchen, John scrambling to follow him.

"Sherlock..." He said hesitantly. "Can we...talk?" Sherlock turned his back to the man as be started the kettle.

He set both of his arms on the counter, tension evident in his arms, his shoulders, and, finally, his voice.

"Go ahead. Say it." Sherlock finally whispered. "Say that you aren't happy anymore, that you are leaving. Just like everyone else."

"Sherlock..." John stepped towards the man to comfort him, but Sherlock turned and stepped backwards, accidentally burning his hand on the kettle. He jumped, but did not make a sound. He cradled his hand and glared at John.

John stepped back, panic starting to place itself in his throat. How could he fix the situation? He was in the wrong, so why would Sherlock forgive him? He had, in a way, betrayed his detective.

"Sherlock, I am not leaving. Look, sit down, let me look at your hand, and let's talk, alright?"

Sherlock cautiously sat at the table and let John treat the burn. 

Then, John set his hand softly on the table and pulled a chair to be across from the detective. 

"Sherlock, I am so sorry about yesterday. Greg and I had too much to drink. Greg kissed me; I did not return it nor do I feel anything other than friendship for Greg. I admit that I should have stopped long before it got to that, but I cannot change what happened. You have no obligation to forgive me; I just want you to know that I love you and only you and I will do anything to prove it." John's eyes were locked on Sherlock's the entire time.

Tears formed in Sherlock's eyes as he clenched his robe with his good fist. "I was so scared, John. Emotions started flaring and I-I thought that you would leave. God, you had to drink because I was in the room. I thought 'I am a freak. Of course he would tire of me. Everyone does.' But you had promised to stay and..." 

Sherlock was silenced as John took his hand and squeezed it assuredly. "I was drinking because your brother was ignoring Greg and Greg was bored. I could listen to you deduce and debate for the rest of my life and never get tired of it. Know that I will never leave you willingly. I will never hurt you on purpose. Know that you have no need to be jealous. I love you and only you."

"John," Sherlock threw himself around John and kissed him softly. "I forgive you."

The two smiled and John held his detective to his chest until, of course, the kettle whistled and one of them had to make the tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	49. Conspiracies (Mystrade)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What happened after John and Sherlock left...

Mycroft maintained his worried look as he watched his brother and his brother’s soldier leave the room. He heard the front door slam and rushed to Greg’s side, helping the man onto the sofa.

Greg was rubbing his head; he had hit it rather hard on the ground when John pushed him. Mycroft batted his hand away so he could check for any bruising, bleeding, or possible concussions. Greg was fine, despite being slightly inebriated. 

“How was my performance?” Greg grinned at his boyfriend as he leaned his head on the younger man’s chest. He was positively purring as he settled into the man’s lap. He hissed delightedly as the man ran a hand up his spine roughly. 

“Wonderful, my dear.” Mycroft grinned as he began attacking Greg’s neck with his lips. 

“Did we really have to do that, though? What if this creates a large rift between them? I don’t want to be the cause of Sherlock going back to old habits.” Greg frowned as he forced himself away from Mycroft’s touch.

“They need to realize what being married is like. This fight will only strengthen them. They need to learn to combat jealousy and disagreements in a civil way. If this does take a bad turn, I can fix it.” 

Mycroft grinned wickedly as he yanked the man’s shirt to pull him into a searing kiss. Greg moved to straddle the man when Mycroft whispered, hot in his ear, “You know, you have been bad, Gregory. You kissed another man under the pretense that you were intoxicated. I think you need to be punished.”

Greg blinked at the man’s false bravado.

“Don’t tell me you are jealous from that little charade…” Greg met his boyfriend’s eyes, ice blue eyes that betrayed his grin. “Myc...you are jealous and, frankly, it is as hot as Hell.”

Greg then kissed the man softly and slowly and stood, taking Mycroft’s hands and pulling him to his feet. . “Let’s go to bed, love. I will show you that you have no reason to be jealous...in fact, I should be jealous of all of those foreign diplomats who get to ogle you more than me…”

They could all but run to their bedroom, possibly having to stop once or twice to snog each other in the hallway. In retrospect, Greg realized that maybe a bit of jealousy was not a bad thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	50. To Blame (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. I promise to fix this...I just saw a tumblr post that talked about Sherlock being strong for John until John passed out. I would link the post, but I couldn't find it. The post was by Lokis-army-at-221b though.
> 
> So, enjoy.

How did it all happen?

The case had been simple: find the bad guy and catch him.

Sherlock had anticipated everything...well, everything but the knife. They had cornered the suspect and a fight ensued. John delivered several punches as Sherlock called Lestrade. 

They thought that the man was unconscious and John had gone to wrap his arms around the detective, congratulating him for another case solved. Then the suspect had buried a knife in John’s back. 

John collapsed onto Sherlock and the suspect ran. And Sherlock, the genius, the sociopath, the iceman’s brother, froze. He had to lower John to the ground so he was on his stomach. Sherlock’s mind, constantly whirring, stopped as he watched the man he loved bleed onto the pavement. He sank to the ground beside the man, feeling his chest tighten and tears form in his eyes.

“Sherlock,” John said in his commanding tone. His blue eyes met Sherlock’s, cool and collected as ever. He smiled wearily. “I need you to be strong. Stop the bleeding and call an ambulance. You can do this. Do not take the knife out. I’ll be fine. I promised that I wouldn't leave you, didn't I?” 

Sherlock set his jaw in determination and followed the orders, taking John’s pulse and using his scarf to staunch the bleeding around the wound. He dialed 999 as he applied pressure to the wound.

“Is the patient conscious?” The operator asked as Sherlock heard sirens in the distance. He leaned to check on John and realized that he was not. 

Then he broke, a sob escaping his throat as he choked out a simple “no”. The panic washed over him and the mobile fell from his hands Silent shudders racked his body. “John....John...wake up. John. You said you wouldn't leave. John. Please...I love you.” Sherlock rambled as tears fell on his hands. 

His cheeks were damp and his hands and face were numb as he felt strong arms lift him from the soldier. Someone sat him on the cold bricks. Everything seemed to move in slow motion. The paramedics were going too slow. They were not getting him into the ambulance fast enough. The sounds were too dull. Why weren't they shouting to each other to hurry? Why weren't they leaving? 

Sherlock turned his attention to the pavement. “Why was their blood on the pavement? Why so much blood. John had been stabbed in the back, so why was there…? In his fog, Sherlock noticed his hands. They weren't usually that color...oh, it was blood. John’s blood. John’s blood on his hands. He shivered, but not from the cold. He had caused this...situation. He brought John into the firefight.

It was all his fault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	51. Brothers (Mystrade)(Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this post fixes the last one...
> 
> Enjoy.

The images flashed before Mycroft’s eyelids. 

Men were in the house, looking for him and Sherlock. His mother quickly hurried them into a secret closet big enough for only the brothers. Sherlock, barely able to talk, had started to cry out of fear. 

Mycroft panicked; they were in danger and Sherlock could easily blow their cover and get them hurt. He then hugged his little brother close to him, shielding him with his body and stifling his soft sobs by rubbing comforting circles on his back.

“Sh...’Lockie. I will always protect you. I am your big brother and I will always make sure that you are safe. Always.” Mycroft had whispered as he ran his fingers through his baby brother’s thick curls. His brother had instantly fallen asleep in his arms. 

Mycroft then jolted awake as he heard the front door close . He dropped the book he had been reading and wondered why he was unable to shift to reach it.

Oh, right. His brother was curled against him and wrapped in a blanket. He was fast asleep and his curls clung to his face from where he had been sobbing into Mycroft’s shirt earlier. His face looked peaceful and serene and so many years younger now that the worry was not written upon it.

Greg crept into the room and arched an eyebrow at the two. 

“He’s asleep and exhausted. You can talk.” Mycroft sighed as he shifted slightly to alleviate the cramp that had started to form in his shoulder. Greg had an amused look on his face as Sherlock shifted to huddle himself closer against his brother. “Don’t you dare laugh.”

“I just never thought of you two as being those siblings who cuddle on the sofa.” Greg grinned. 

“We aren't.” Mycroft shook his head and looked down at his sleeping brother. He absentmindedly ran his fingers through the man’s curls. “He just appeared on my doorstep. John is in surgery, so he couldn't go to Baker Street and he has an aversion to hospitals. He also doesn't trust himself when he is alone and he likely realized that tonight would be a danger night. I've seen the doctor injured on previous occasions, but this injury was serious.”

“He looks so peaceful, childlike even.”

“He is a child, in a way. He cannot cope with his emotions well and he craves affection like a child. I still blame our father for being so cold for making us like this. In any case, I have to protect him. I promised years ago and every time he falls or needs help, I am going to be there. If that means he needs to cry and fall asleep on my shoulder, I will be there for him.”

Greg gazed at his boyfriend in awe. “But you hate each other, right? You always bicker.”

Mycroft smiled wistfully. “My work is dangerous and those close to me become the targets. You and Anthea can defend yourselves. Sherlock, however, is so vulnerable, especially without his doctor. If someone knew that I will do anything to protect him, he would be used against me and he would not be able to stop it or escape easily. So, distance keeps him from being a target. I do love him dearly, though. He is, and always will be, my baby brother.” He rubbed circles on Sherlock’s back as the man sobbed in his dream. He quieted easily.

Suddenly, Mycroft’s mobile rang. He quickly answered it but Sherlock was stirred from his sleep.

He drowsily blinked at Greg. “Stop shagging my brother if you are going to keep it a secret or tell everyone. Also, tell Agent Donovan to take a pregnancy test.” He then turned to his brother, who was speaking on the mobile with Anthea. His eyes widened as Mycroft sighed and ended the call. 

“John…” Sherlock whispered, his eyes intent on his brother. “How is he? Is he out of surgery?”

Mycroft met Sherlock’s eyes as he delivered the news.

“John Watson died three times in surgery but was resuscitated each time. He received two transfusions, as an artery was severed. The doctors were safely able to repair it. He is stable and it appears that your doctor will make a full recovery.”

Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief as he lunged at his brother to hug him.

“Thank you,” he whispered as tears formed in his eyes. “For everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	52. Happy Accidents (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just fluff...
> 
> Enjoy. :)

Their first kiss was, more or less, an accident.

The crime scene had been a gruesome double homicide and Lestrade had called.them to consult. Sherlock immediately began deducing as John spoke to Lestrade, complaining that he had canceled yet another date for the detective.

"Why don't you just date him?" Greg asked, gesturing at Sherlock. "You already live together. Cases won't ruin your dates. Besides, he loves you, or so his brother says."

"You just have bets on us." John sighed as Sherlock called to John to take a look at the corpses. 

John quickly made a list of the things he saw, apparently catching something that Sherlock had not.

Sherlock's jaw dropped as the solution hit him and, in the heat of the moment, he strode toward John and kissed him deeply, leaning down and holding the man's head in his hands.

John moaned into the contact and the spike of adrenaline and heat running through his body. His heart pounded and it felt...nice. But, Sherlock quickly pulled away and John whined.

Sherlock simply said, "You are brilliant. Now, come along. I know where we will find the suspect." And off he ran to catch a cab.

John could simply watch the man leave, stunned as he pressed his fingers to his lips. "What just happened?" He asked Greg.

"Go get him. I told you." Greg grinned as he hit John playfully on the back. "Go!"

John ran down the street, following his detective as always. Greg then turned to his stunned colleagues.

"About damn time. Now, who had bets on three years? Looks like it is your lucky day." He called, grinning. "Get this cleaned up and evidence collected. There will be some unlucky fellows at the station."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	53. On Purpose (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of their kiss... continued from yesterday.
> 
> Enjoy.

John raced after his detective into the cold winter morning. 

Sherlock’s long legs had carried him down the street where he was hailing a cab and ushering John along. John, out of breath, fell into the vehicle and they were off to see the suspect.

“Are we going to talk about what happened?” John asked as he closed his eyes, trying to calm his breath. Sherlock refused to look at him, instead choosing to mumble to himself about the suspect and that John’s question did not even register on his mind. 

The search for the suspect led to four solid hours of running through the streets of London and eventually into the murky water of the Thames. They captured the suspect and, after a trip to the Yard, were waiting in the cold London air for a cab that would take a still-slightly-damp John. 

John shivered. He did not even have a coat.

Sherlock suddenly stepped closer to John and encircled him with his coat open, wrapping his arms around the soldier and tucking him into his coat. John sighed into the embrace. In that moment, he cared only for warmth, not for his sexuality and not for the perception of others. 

Lestrade finally offered to drive them to the flat, finding them huddled together and shivering on the street ten minutes later. He took pictures with his phone when they fell asleep in the backseat.

***

They stumbled into the flat, with John immediately going to take a shower while Sherlock made tea. 

John, finally warm and swathed in his robe, sat in his chair, opposite of Sherlock. He took a gulp of his tea and met Sherlock’s nervous eyes. 

“So, you kissed me today.” John said, stating it neutrally and as a fact. 

“Yes. I suppose I did.” Sherlock murmured into his mug. “We can just forget about it. I know you are straight…”

“I liked it, Sherlock.” John said as he set his tea on the ground and stood, crossing to the detective, their knees touching. “How long?”

“Since brilliant.” Sherlock said, his eyes meeting John’s confidently. “May I kiss you again?”

“God yes.” John sighed happily as he crushed his lips to Sherlock’s.

Their second kiss was on purpose, and every kiss after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	54. Goldfish (Mystrade)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A continuation from a post some time ago...
> 
> The one where Greg saved Mycroft in an alley? Well, Mycroft saved himself, but it is that chapter. 
> 
> Here is the date that followed...
> 
> Enjoy.

Mycroft had never expected to like Gregory so much.

He had been so surprised by the first date; the man was charming yet simple, intelligent and calculating yet warm and kind. He was an utter goldfish, absolutely and completely, and Mycroft Holmes was falling for him.

They had dinner at a restaurant of Greg’s choosing; he even felt the need to to pay for the dinner. Mycroft bought dessert so the night would be extended by a few more minutes. They spoke of so many topics, mainly Sherlock, who seemed to be a mutual connection. Why had they not crossed paths earlier? 

The conversation flowed easily, and they even switched to French when the couples beside them gave them weird looks because they were discussing a gruesome murder from the previous day. They even discussed witty puns.

“Why do the French only need one egg in their omelettes?” Greg asked cheekily as Mycroft dead-panned. “Because one is un œuf. Get it? Enough sounds like one egg in French.”

Mycroft sighed but grinned at the man. He was marvelous, an easy enigma that Mycroft did not want to solve but could not help become more attracted.

***

At the end of the night, Mycroft walked Greg to his flat’s door. They laughed and giggled at more of Greg’s jokes, quite inappropriately for men their ages. Frankly, however, they did not care. They were happy with each other’s presence and may or may not have held hands the entire time on the way home.

As they approached the door, Mycroft suddenly got nervous. His stomach fluttered as Greg gave him a steamy look. 

“You can come inside…” Greg said as Mycroft smiled weakly.

“I would love to do so, but I have meetings tomorrow and...I do not want to rush into whatever we have, Gregory. I enjoy your presence very much and I do not want to be just another night in your repertoire. I do hope, however, that you will entertain me with another date.” Mycroft delivered the entire speech to his feet. 

He finally met Greg’s kind eyes that did not seem at all disappointed. “I would love to go on another date.” He smiled genuinely at Mycroft, taking his hand. “I suppose this is goodnight.”

“Yes, it appears to be.” The two had slowly been leaning closer to each other until Mycroft finally gathered all of his will and closed the distance to press his lips to Greg’s. The kiss was chaste, but both of their hearts nearly clambered out of their chests. 

Greg finally broke the kiss, smiling up at Mycroft. He gently pulled his head down to kiss his forehead. “Goodnight, Mycroft. I look forward to seeing you again. Pleasant dreams.”

“Pleasant dream to you too, Gregory. Goodnight.” Greg then stepped into his flat and closed the door. 

On either sides of the door, both men leaned against it, their heads spinning from the rush of excitement.

Yes, neither of them would sleep that night; their minds were too preoccupied with the other man and how his lips felt on his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	55. Anniversaries (Hangelo) (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I know that Mrs. Hudson and Angelo are not on a list of ships when it comes to Sherlock. I, however, have had this idea for a while and I shall call it Hangelo. Most references are taken from "A Study In Pink" with regards to their first meeting and the cane.
> 
> Do you ship it?
> 
> Enjoy. (Maybe?)

John and Sherlock were celebrating their first anniversary of being together and, frankly, it was both adorable and heartwarmingly strange. 

The two had just finished a case and were covered in mud when they walked into Angelo’s and took their usual table, Angelo happily placing a candle on the table and offering the men flannels so they could clean themselves in the back. Mrs. Hudson, thanks to John’s phone call that they needed extra clothes, soon arrived with a fresh set for the both of them. 

After they returned to their seats, they ordered and fell into a comfortable silence of just staring into each other’s eyes. Eventually, John suggested that they exchange gifts.

Sherlock, being the man that he was, had somehow learned to knit a sweater; it was light blue and matched John’s eyes and, though crude, John decided he would wear it as often as possible. John, on the other hand, gave Sherlock a new skull to be a companion to Billy on the mantle. He immediately named it Hamish and placed it on the table next to the candle. 

The two fell into a gentle conversation, seemingly unaware that they were being watched. 

***

“Martha, I did not expect to see you here. I thought we were going to meet at your place tomorrow.” Angelo smiled as he placed both a candle and a cup of tea on the table in front of the woman. He kissed her cheek and took the seat opposite of her. 

“The boys needed me to bring clothes; I keep telling them that I am not their housekeeper.” Mrs. Hudson smiled back at the man as her gaze flickered to the couple by the window. “They are like my children though, so I’ll allow it. And I wanted to surprise you. My physician cleared my hip replacement. I’m free to use it, as long as the activity isn't too strenuous, like the-” she coughed slightly, winking at Angelo, “activity that dislocated it in the first place.”

Angelo chuckled and took her hand that did not hold the cup, placing kisses on the top, palm, wrist, and each finger. “I do believe you enjoyed that little...activity.”

“Michael…we are in public.” Martha giggled, but did not pull her hand from his. 

“That did not stop you from dancing the way you did, on that stage. I remember when I first saw you, your eyes twinkling like the sequins on your dress. What you were doing up there should have been against the law… I think it was actually. In any case, why can we not be young, like those two over there. We are young at heart and I have been in love with you for what, five years do the day? It is our anniversary too. Let’s celebrate.” Angelo’s eyes twinkled as he squeezed Mrs. Hudson’s hand.

Mrs. Hudson sighed affectionately. “You know, we should thank Sherlock for calling you to Baker Street. If you had not have appeared on my door with John’s cane, I do not know where we would be. I do not know where they would be.” She gestured at the two men who were holding hands under the table as Sherlock paid the bill and John rested his weary head on his detective’s shoulder. “It took them four years with both of our efforts. If our paths had not crossed, they would still be denying the sexual tension.”

“They were stubborn, those two.” Angelo murmured as he watched them leave. “I’m closing in a few minutes. Want to wait and we can go to my flat?”

“I want you to put this hip to good use and dance with me with old music and the chairs on the table.” Mrs. Hudson said with a smile and a spark in her eyes.

Angelo stood and kissed her gently on the hand. “Yes, my lady. Whatever you wish is my command.” And then he returned to the kitchen to finish the dinner shift, leaving Mrs. Martha Louise Hudson blushing as if she were still twenty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	56. Changes (Anthooper)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some Anthooper angst...
> 
> Enjoy.

Molly slammed the door as she entered the flat and continued walking to the bedroom, slamming that door too, not letting Anthea near her. She put a music playlist on her portable speaker and used the sounds to drown out Anthea who was behind the door. 

She pulled the pins from her hair quickly and, in her frustrated movements, had everything become a tangled mess. She hit the table in her anger and worked on removing her heels and the little black dress that was too tight on her. 

She hit the table again and looked at herself in the mirror. Her mascara was running; she had worn mascara, gotten dressed up, all for Anthea. And look where that got her. She laughed to herself bitterly, the only thing she could do other than cry, and again tried to remove the pins. 

Eventually, she decided to cut them out. It felt good, letting her anger and betrayal seep through the motions of the scissors; she relished the way the weight on her shoulders seemed to fall away with her brown hair. 

She evened her new haircut and tucked half of it behind her ears and then broke down crying. 

Eventually, the playlist ended and she had to confront Anthea. 

She walked to the door and Anthea, hearing her, began to speak through it. 

“Molly, I did not mean to do it. Irene, we used to be in a relationship but I made it clear that I was yours, that I love you, that she was no more than a physical relationship to me. She was upset and she kissed me to make you jealous. She was jealous of what we have and I never meant for you to get hurt. I am so sorry. I promise that I will never go to another social function again where she might be a guest. I was stupid; I should have checked the list, but I wanted you to have fun, to wear a beautiful dress and have the world adore you and your personality and your beauty like I do. I wanted them to have a taste of my happiness. I apologize immensely and I will agree with whatever you decide. Please, just answer me. I love you and I don’t want to lose you.”

Molly threw open the door; Anthea’s eyes were red and her clothes were crumpled and her makeup ruined. Molly fell into Anthea’s embrace and they just held each other, crying. 

“I love you too.” Molly whispered as she met Anthea’s eyes. “I forgive you.” Anthea kissed Molly softly as their eyes twinkled.

Anthea hummed into the kiss and pulled away inquisitively as her fingers found that Molly’s hair was shorter. “I like it. It reveals your beautiful neck.” Anthea trailed her kisses to Molly’s collarbone and was about to go lower when Molly jerked Anthea’s head back by her hair.

“If you liked what Miss Irene Adler can do, you should meet me when I’m angry. Luckily for you, I still am. Now, on the bed.”

Passion and mischief settled on Molly’s face as she pushed her girlfriend into the bedroom. Maybe some changes that were caused by jealousy were good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	57. Protection (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of Sherlock's past...
> 
> Warning: Depictions of drugs and dead body descriptions.

Sherlock owed Greg a favor and, since the man was feeling under the weather, the Detective Inspector had immediately called the man upon hearing that there was a homicide so that he could go home for the day.

They all arrived at the scene the same time; the body was in one of London’s numerous parks and in the view of everyone, should someone be strolling in the area. Two children had found it. 

The body was covered by a tarp and Sherlock and John donned their gloves so they could search for evidence. 

When he saw the body, Sherlock froze, his shoulders tensing and his breath catching. 

The tourniquet was still on his arm and track marks, old and new, scarred his body. A syringe lay next to the body and the victim lay in a pool of his own blood. He had been stabbed in the jugular and his face had contorted in pain as he had bled out on the pavement. 

The man had curly brown hair and high cheekbones and was tall. Sherlock stepped backwards and turned from the scene, feeling the bile rise in his throat. The memories, well, what he could remember, all flooded his mind. They always returned, no matter how much he tried to delete them.

“It was the dealer. Check your records; run a test on the brand of heroine. Compare the results.” He choked as he felt the panic strike his lungs and his chest tighten. He stumbled towards John and leaned on him. He whispered in pain into the man’s ear, “Help me.”

And then he slumped onto his doctor, his brain shutting down because the memories, the time before John, were just too much for him to handle. 

***

Safe in their bed, Sherlock had broken out in a cold sweat, yet John still held him close and stroked his forehead, watching the sleeping man. After what seemed like hours, the detective gradually stirred and tried to bury himself further into his soldier’s shoulder. He whimpered slightly, clearly disoriented.

“Shh...Sherlock. I’m here. You are in our bedroom and you are safe.” John soothed as Sherlock finally faced the doctor. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Sherlock sat up straight, crossing his long legs and John mirrored him. The detective took a deep breath and began.

“I used to be involved in drugs, specifically heroin and cocaine. You know that much. You do not know one of the occurrences that led to my subsequent stint in rehab. One night, I met my dealer in a park, similar to the…” His eyes teared as he remembered the young man. He took a steadying breath. “My dealer was young, inexperienced. He wanted more money from me; he knew I had it. So, after the deal, he attacked me, trying to stab me with the syringe. I was able to escape and Mycroft eventually caught the man. He threw me into that place to keep me clean. There were no escapes. No windows, nothing stimulating. The walls were so white...I wanted to die if it meant an escape from that place, if it meant that my mind would be quiet. The drugs, I used them to numb the rapid thoughts, but that place…” 

John reached up to stroke Sherlock’s cheek, to flick the tears from his face with his callused thumb. “Shh...you are safe now. I will never let them take you again.”

“I-At the scene, I saw him and he looked so much like me; that’s what I would have looked like if that man had succeeded. I thought of all the pain and uncertainty of that time. I don’t want to ever go back, John. Please don’t let me go back…” Then Sherlock finally broke into a sob and let his body be racked by them.

John embraced the detective, running his hands on the detective’s back and pressing a kiss to his forehead. 

“I promise, love. I will never let you go there again. Let me chase your demons from your beautiful mind; there are so many other things, great things, that need to be in that head. I’ll protect you...with everything I have.” John’s whispers quieted the detective and, eventually, they fell into their dreams in the arms of each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	58. Torment (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This post is for the lovely Hrothgar, who gave me the prompt of Mrs. Hudson introducing an automatic vacuum cleaner.
> 
> Thank you, dear.
> 
> Enjoy.

John and Sherlock froze as they entered the flat. 

A round device lay in the center of the room and it emitted noises as the two men entered, fresh from a case that left them both covered in dirt.

“Don’t move.” John mouthed as he circled around the device, tiptoeing slowly towards it. “It could be an explosive.”

Sherlock, at the same time, placed himself flat on the floor, cheek to the hard wood, so he could examine the device more closely. A wave of dust fell from his curls as he did so and the device immediately surged forward.

Sherlock, too stunned to react, let out a small yelp as the device tried to vacuum his hair and the dirt around him. He hit the device and sent it skidding across the room as he cradled his head and glared at it. 

“Whatever it is, I don’t like it.” Sherlock mumbled as he curled into a ball on the sofa, his back to John, who was now laughing uncontrollably, and the device.

“It’s a vacuum that is programmed to find dirt automatically. I told you I am not your housekeeper, but you both need it in here. This place is a mess.” Mrs. Hudson scolded as she stepped around the pile of dirt in the doorway. “Please use it, loves.” And then she disappeared, going back to her flat.

***

John made good use of the vacuum. It helped to keep the floor clear and was a wonder helping with cleaning Sherlock’s experiments.

Sherlock, however, detested the device. Whenever it was in the room, he would leave and, several times, he may or may have not tried to pour acid onto it.

Finally, John had enough, saying as he watched Sherlock hide in the corner as he read the paper and as the vacuum clean in the kitchen. “It is a vacuum, Sherlock. You don’t need to be scared of it.”

“It eats my experiments and it attacked me. How do I know it isn't planning an attack?” Sherlock quipped as he moved to sit in his chair, perched like a cat.

“Stop being such a drama queen, you berk. Your hair was filthy and that is what it is programmed to clean. Look, I’ll only use it when you are out of the flat, alright? We can keep it in the closet in the bedroom.”

Sherlock, with a huff, agreed to the terms.

The next day, however, when John went to find the vacuum, the vacuum had mysteriously disappeared. It was never seen again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	59. The Best Thing (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This prompt was inspired by the lovely lion_62. (Don't worry; I'll do your actual suggestion soon, but this came to my mind after reading your post.) Thank you dear. 
> 
> Enjoy. :)

John had not seen Brian McKinnon in years. They had parted ways when he had been shot. Now, after three years, Brian was finally back in the country and was coming to visit.

“Sherlock, can you look somewhat presentable? We have a guest arriving in less than twenty minutes.” John said as he hastily pulled a clean jumper over his head. He surveyed his boyfriend of six months, who was now splayed face down on the sofa in nothing but a dressing gown. 

“John, I’m thinking. Go away.” Sherlock mumbled. He paused for a moment, then deadpanned. “John, why are you putting so much effort into this guest? We have guests all the time, yet you never…”

Sherlock then deduced from John’s appearance what the cause of his agitation was. “He is an ex. You only ever act like this around your ex-girlfriends. But this is your ex-boyfriend.” Sherlock sighed and stood. “You don’t want it to look as if you love an incompetent slob. I understand. I’ll humour you.”

Sherlock then went to change into actual clothing.

***

Brian arrived while Sherlock was in the shower. He was of an average height and had brown hair that was scattered with a few silver hairs. On all accounts, he was handsome. He and John sat on the sofa, John serving tea, and they caught up on memories and what had happened in both of their lives. 

Sherlock finally entered the room and sat on the sofa beside John. 

“So, this is your flatmate?” Brian said almost astonished and partially disgusted. 

“Yes, this is Sherlock.” John said as he took Sherlock’s hand. “I’m going to get you some tea, love.” John went to the kitchen while Brian launched into an assault.

“I was the best thing that ever happened to him, you know. God, you don’t even look like a man. I bet he thinks that you are a woman in the dark and that’s why he stays with you. How are you even alive? You look like a skeleton. You surely aren't a man; you’re too skinny. You’re a freak. Do you even speak, or are you a mute? I bet you have to beg him to fuck you.” Brian said after surveying Sherlock with contempt. 

Sherlock simply kept his gaze forward. He tried to ignore this-this bully, but the words were starting to get to him. Then, they heard the crash of a mug breaking on the floor.

“Out,” John demanded as he jerked Brian up by the collar. “I wanted to see what you thought of him, so I listened and, frankly, you disgust me. I wanted you to be the best man at my wedding, but now, I never want to see you again. I love this man so much more than I ever loved you. You had to beg me for it, beg me to shag you. Maybe I was the best thing YOU ever had, if I was, then you are pathetic. You, however, are surely not under the impression that you are my best. Sherlock. Is. My. World. If you don’t like him, get out. In fact, get out now before I kill you and we both hide your body where none of your ex-lovers will ever find it. You really are pathetic. I hope you know what it actually is to love someone, someday. Until then, do not talk to me.” John delivered his speech with increasing anger, until he was almost yelling. 

John then released Brian by hurling him towards the door and the man did not hesitate to leave.

As soon as the door closed, Sherlock’s neutral mask broke and John held him, his omnipresent protector. 

***

Brian stumbled out of 221 Baker Street and into a woman who was carrying a set of files. 

“Sorry,” he said as he scrambled to help her gather them. “Here.”

“Thanks,” the woman said with a smile. “So, what happened up there? I know the two that live up there.”

“It’s a long story.” Brian said, his will a bit broken from John’s outburst. He would try to take John’s words to heart because, maybe, he was a pathetic man living in the past who hoped to have something with the clearly happy soldier. 

“I have a few stories too. I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.” The woman smiled at him warmly and handed him her card, telling him to text her so they could meet for coffee or something. The woman then disappeared with her files into the flat.

Brian thumbed the card and held it under the light. In a fancy scrawl was the woman’s number and her name. 

Sally Donovan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	60. Worth it (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so here is the actual chapter for the prompt suggestion by lion_62. Again, thank you dear.
> 
> Enjoy. :)

“Stop it!” Sherlock Holmes cried, his voice shrill as he felt the stones pelt his body. “Go away!” He then felt branches scratch at his exposed skin. The brambles would be painful to remove from his curls and he knew his uniform was torn...again.

“C’mon Kyle. We have to go back to class.” One of the children called and, momentarily, his attacker stopped. Then, Sherlock felt a sharp kick to his ribs as his bully delivered one more blow before leaving.

“See you tomorrow, freak.” Kyle called to him; Sherlock knew the mischievous, Cheshire cat look on the boy’s face, and he dreaded the next day as always. That Kyle made his life Hell. Sherlock was too smart, too feminine, too sensitive to be accepted by the schoolyard microcosm. Even his name did not belong. He deserved to be beaten, tormented, just because he was different.

Sherlock had been transferred to private, at-home tutoring when Mycroft had discovered the bruises on the ten-year old.

He had been discovered in his room, having forgotten to put on a shirt before his brother came to read him a chemistry textbook before bed. Mycroft had found the boy crying, cradling a book of poisons in his arms. Mycroft had thought that Sherlock would hurt the other boys when, in actuality, Sherlock had wanted to end his own hurt. 

Sherlock thus resented his brother, and the rest was history. 

***

John Watson had been living with Sherlock for a few months. They worked, giggled at crime scenes, and felt a growing sexual tension over take-out that neither of them would admit for at least three more months.

One of John’s army pals had just returned from deployment and they were celebrating at the pub. They had drank a few beers when suddenly Sherlock came into the pub, immediately finding John. 

“Case?” John asked before he downed his drink. 

“Gavin called.” Sherlock said as he slid into the booth across from John. “I did not want to interrupt your date.”

“You always interrupt my dates, you berk. But this isn’t a date. This is Kyle Phillips. We were medics together.” John gestured to the man sitting beside Sherlock. “Kyle, this is my colleague, Sherlock Holmes.”

The man in the booth smiled and hugged Sherlock, to the detective’s utter disgust. “What Holmes, you don’t remember me? Primary School? You transferred out so suddenly.”

“I remember you.” Sherlock said neutrally. “John, I’ll leave you two. Enjoy your night.”

Sherlock moved to leave, but Kyle grabbed Sherlock’s arm, accidentally tearing the Belstaff coat. Sherlock heard the seams pop and jerked his arm away. “C’mon Holmes. Play with John and me, like old times.”

“Those old times led to several fractured ribs, a suicide attempt, and years of isolation. No, I do not want to play with you.” Sherlock said, looking to John desperately for help.

“Fine, freak.” Kyle said as he downed his beer and moved to leave. “John, let’s go.”

Sherlock immediately looked panicked and though John hesitated for a moment, he stood, stepping between the two men. “Kyle, go home. Sherlock, let’s go home. We don’t need to associate with people like him.”

John put money on the table for his drinks and took Sherlock by the hand. He narrowed his eyes at Kyle. “Sherlock is my colleague and my best friend. If you don’t want him, you don’t get me. We are a package deal and if you are going to talk to him like this, you can lose my number and never contact me again.”

John then tugged Sherlock out of the bar. As soon as they were in a cab, Sherlock rested his head on John’s shoulder and John thought he heard a quiet “thank you” as he felt teardrops soak through on his jumper. 

“It’s okay. You’re worth it. You’re worth so much more than all of them.” John murmured as he wrapped his arm around his flatmate’s shoulder. “Now, let’s go solve that case.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	61. Hand in Hand (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is a continuation from yesterday's chapter and was inspired by sher_locked_22. Thank you dear. :)
> 
> This chapter takes place three months after the Kyle Incident.
> 
> Enjoy.

John sat in his chair, reading the newspaper as Sherlock lightly plucked at his violin. He had been obsessed with it as of late. John had not seen the man without it for the past week. Sherlock appeared to be deeply conflicted; he was so absorbed with his violin and with his thoughts that his only speech within the past week had been grunts and murmurs to himself.

His songs had grown lighter and more carefree as the week had progressed though, so John was content. At least he was not chasing after criminals with guns and setting the flat on fire.

John had started to miss his detective’s voice when the many suddenly snapped from his trance, setting the violin in its case and moving to stand in front of John.

“Sherlock?” John set the paper on the table and reached out to grab the detective’s hand. John loved his hands, really. They were thin and elongated and would feel so nice on his skin… wait, John was not gay. He knew he was not gay, but something had caused a fluttering in his stomach and a tightness in his chest whenever he saw the detective. Could that something be… love? 

John pushed the thoughts from his mind. Sherlock would never want to be with him; he hadn't showed any inclination towards seeing the former soldier as anyone other than a friend.

Sherlock drew John from his thoughts as he cleared his throat. “I think you love me.”

John froze and stared at the detective inquisitively, silently asking, “What brought this on?”

Sherlock sighed and pulled his chair so he and John had their knees touching. “You saved me from a former bully of mine three months ago, one who made my life a living Hell and quite possibly made me the sociopathic, damaged person that I am. I had always thought you were overtly affectionate; you casually touch people without them noticing it. But then, you acted very protective towards me and I know that you adore me. Otherwise, you would not be in this flat.”

John, though concerned at his flatmate’s dark past, snickered a bit, but let the man continue. He resolved to address the matter at a later time. 

“To me, love is a combination of adoration and protectiveness. You are also physically attracted to me. Your eyes dilate and tend to focus upon my rear whenever I wear my tighter clothes. Thus, after some debated, I decided that you love me…”

“Sherlock, you can’t make assumptions-”

“That you love me and I love you too.” 

They delivered the lines at the same time. Their eyes met as they both blushed. “Do you mean it?” John whispered as he leaned towards the man. They were merely inches away, their lips so close to touching. 

“Yes,” Sherlock breathed. “I adore you John and I want to care for you. So, would you like to give....love, for lack of a better word, a try?”

“Oh god yes.” John smiled as he took Sherlock’s hand, tracing it absentmindedly with his fingers. “I-I felt something, but I did not know how to express it…”

“John, kindly shut up and kiss me.” Sherlock said impatiently as he tugged John forward into a chaste kiss. The kiss deepened, but John still held Sherlock’s hand throughout it, intertwining their fingers. 

Long, violinist fingers intertwined with callused, scarred ones as they rushed unhurriedly to the bedroom and divested themselves of their clothes. Those same fingers that brought pleasure to each partner that night, and many nights after, remained knotted even as both men were overcome by desire.

They fell asleep, hand in hand, now partners in every sense of the word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	62. Torture (Anthooper)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone, regardless of gender, who has ever felt uncomfortable with their bodies. You are wonderful and beautiful. Remember, your weight is just the amount of gravity that is trying to force your mass into the ground. So, don't let the gravity get you down. 
> 
> Enjoy.

Molly huffed, releasing an aggravated sigh as she tried unsuccessfully to squeeze herself into an old pair of jeans. She had worn them what, two months ago? Why did they no longer fit?

She knew she had gained some weight, but she hadn't gained that much, had she? Her pants and the scale said otherwise. 

She examined herself in her bedroom mirror. She had gotten larger and the lines in her face were more pronounced. She was getting old and fat and, by that time, she was so frustrated that she just wanted to cry. 

Well, she didn't cry. She was strong and supposed to be happy with her body. Still, she felt like crying and curled into a ball of blankets on the couch as she watched Colin Firth on the tele.

Anthea found her a few hours later watching a documentary on medieval torture, something that to Anthea meant that Molly was upset. 

The woman gradually approached her girlfriend and cuddled beside her on the couch, giving her a kiss on the nose. "What's wrong, love?" Anthea whispered.

"I'm old and fat and you'll leave me, so I've decided to build a time machine and go back to medieval times and create torture devices. There is one flaw: women weren't executioners, though I could-" Anthea silenced the woman's ramblings with a kiss.

"I will never leave you, Molly Hooper. You are amazing and gorgeous. I don't care if you get old or fat. I'll get old and fat too, if you want me to do so. No matter how you change, you will still be the beautiful woman that I love." 

Molly smiled at Anthea and rested her head on the other woman's shoulder. Anthea held Molly tightly and they fell asleep together, medieval torture devices and weight on her mind forgotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	63. Bear Hugs (Mystrade)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mystrade Fluff. :)
> 
> Enjoy.

It was just a giant, stuffed bear. So, why did it mean so much?

***

Mycroft and Greg had been window-shopping around Christmas. The lights on the lampposts had twinkled brilliantly as they walked hand-in-hand down the street. 

They were celebrating their six month anniversary and Greg was being...Greg, the funny, goofy, yet sometimes serious man who Mycroft had grown to love. He had disappeared while the politician bought hot chocolate from a street vendor. 

After a few minutes, Gregory appeared with something behind his back. Upon Mycroft’s inquisitive look, Greg revealed the surprise to be a large, stuffed bear with a red bow around its neck.

“Gregory, I am a grown man.” Mycroft had sighed half-heartedly. After a moment, however, he broke into a huge grin as he held the bear and hugged his inspector. “You are so childish, but I believe that is one of your charms.”

The two shared a chaste kiss in the middle of the street and then decided to return home.

They had resumed walking down the street, hands together and bodies slightly closer than normal. Mycroft clutched the bear and his umbrella under his other arm while Greg held the shared cup of hot chocolate. 

***

Mycroft smiled wearily at the memory as he held the bear close to him, hugging it closer to his chest. Greg had been working all week and the stress had really been too much.

Mycroft could usually handle the pressure of running a small yet influential country, but discussions had become increasingly difficult and he was starting to crack. He could feel the panic start to creep through his body and, though he tried to calm his breathing, his heart still felt as if it would beat out of his chest. Tears began to flow from his eyes as he held the bear as tight as possible.

The toy smelled like Greg, like stale cigarettes (that he was not supposed to be smoking) and the man’s cologne and the smell that was distinctly Gregory. He breathed in the scent, trying to focus and calm himself. 

He really needed his boyfriend. 

***

Greg Lestrade found his boyfriend cuddling the stuffed bear that he had bought for Mycroft three months earlier. The man did not even notice as Greg entered the room and the inspector soon found his boyfriend to be fast asleep.

He quietly divested himself of his clothes and climbed into the bed beside the politician. Mycroft, still asleep, curled up to the Inspector’s bare chest, crushing the bear between them. Gregory smiled as he pressed a kiss to Mycroft’s head and stroked his curls softly. 

“Love you,” Greg murmured with his lips still pressed to Mycroft’s forehead. 

“Thank you for the bear. Less lonely.” Mycroft murmured in return, his speech slurred from sleep. “Love you too.” 

They both fell asleep soon afterwards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	64. Panic (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Caution: Descriptions of injuries. Blood.
> 
> Remember: Be careful with your chemicals. Don't leave experiments unsupervised. Wear aprons.
> 
> Enjoy. :)

Sherlock had not meant to hurt John. It just...happened.

Sherlock had left a running reaction in the kitchen. He had simply gone downstairs to ask Mrs. Hudson for her apron so he did not burn through another shirt with acid. John, in the meantime, had returned from Tesco’s with a few groceries. 

Upon placing the groceries on the counter, John disturbed the reaction, causing a beaker to fall on the floor. As he moved to sanitize a place for the milk, he slipped in the liquid and fell flat on his back, the broken glass embedding itself in his back.

And the chemicals were burning. 

***

Sherlock heard the crash in the flat and immediately bounded up the stairs. 

He found bloody glass on the floor, along with his former experiment that was dissolving the grocery bags. He followed the trail of blood to the bathroom, panic settling deep in his chest as he calculated how much blood was likely on the floor. Any blood was too much. Correction. Any of John’s blood was too much.

“John,” He asked hesitantly as opened the door. He found John sitting in the bath, blood dripping into the tub as he winced and tried to rinse the chemicals from his wounds. 

“Sherlock,” John smiled weakly. He looked pale, too pale, as Sherlock stepped forward. The detective felt an ache in his limbs as he moved. Is this what it was to be frozen with fear? Nausea established itself in his stomach as he went to John’s side. 

“John, I don’t know…” Sherlock breathed as he examined the wounds. Glass was embedded in his skin. “The paramedics wouldn't be able to get here in time.” 

John, remaining calm and collected as ever, noticed that Sherlock was in full-blown panic mode. He squared his shoulder the best he could given the circumstances and said in his commanding tone:

“Sherlock Holmes, I need you to remove the glass, clean the wound, and stitch the gashes. I need you to be a strong soldier. You are not allowed to panic until I tell you to do so. Is that clear?” Captain Watson was the only thing that could get Sherlock to stop panicking and he was reassured of this fact as Sherlock nodded quickly and went to fetch the first-aid kit. 

Sherlock followed his orders perfectly and soon, after a quick visit to the clinic to get some antibiotics and to check the stitches, the two men were in their bed. Sherlock was flat on his back and John lay on his own stomach and had draped himself around his boyfriend.

“You did very well today.” John whispered as he took Sherlock’s hand and kissed it. 

“I’m sorry about panicking though. John, I saw the blood and all I could think of was…” John silenced the detective by pulling him by his shirt into an awkward kiss.

“You were wonderful. That panic allowed you to focus and you saved me.” John smiled. “Now, I don’t know about you, but I am exhausted.”

They stayed like that, laying together in the silence, until Sherlock whispered, “John Watson, you are everything to me. I am so sorry. I love you so much.”

John, as if on cue, smiled in his sleep and murmured, “Love you too, ‘Lockie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	65. Made Me (Mystrade)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that there have been so many "in the elevator" prompts for these two, but I wanted to write my own version. 
> 
> Enjoy. :)

Mycroft Holmes and Gregory Lestrade glared at each other as Mycroft furiously pressed the button. 

"I cannot believe that you did that." He hissed, clutching his umbrella tightly with his white-knuckled fist.

“You made me do it.” Greg replied, equally as tense, from the other side of the elevator. His arms were crossed. “You and Sherlock were arguing at my crime scene. You deserved it.”

Mycroft huffed. They both faced forward, staring at the crack of the elevator door, waiting for it to open so they could escape the growing tension between them. 

“I could have you fired.” Mycroft murmured.

“You wouldn't dare.” Greg replied coolly. “You love me too much to do that.”

“I do not love you.”

“Yes, you do.”

“I do not.”

“Yes, you DO!”

“I told you Gregory, I am not in love with you. Why do you keep pursuing this subject?”

Suddenly, the elevator stopped, jolting the two men so hard that they were thrown to the floor. The light’s were extinguished and Greg stumbled and landed on top of the politician. Their faces were inches apart when Greg, still continuing the conversation, whispered, “I love you.”

Mycroft, not Greg, closed the distance between them with a searing kiss. He secured his fingers in the inspector’s hair and held on for his life. He rolled his hips into the inspector’s body, his own suddenly craving the affection that had been deprived of it for years. Finally, needing to breath, the men ended the kiss and Greg rolled to the side of Mycroft.

“I cannot believe that you did that.” Gregory murmured as he leaned over Mycroft, propping himself on one arm and using the other to trace lines on the man’s waist with his fingers. 

“You made me do it.” Mycroft whispered as he searched again for Gregory’s lips. “There might be a large chance that I am in love with you. I was afraid that you wouldn't...You aren't gay.”

“Neither is John, but you can see the tension between him and Sherlock.” Greg smiled. The lights suddenly returned and the two men stood and straightened their clothes. Both of them were slightly aroused from the kiss. Their faces were red and lips swollen and bulges made appearances on both of their trousers.

Mycroft pulled Greg flush to his body by the man’s tie and whispered hotly in his ear, “Please tell me you still have your handcuffs. You are coming home with me.” 

They kissed again, tongues exploring each other’s mouth, not realizing that the doors had opened. 

They were brought to reality by the cheering of several officers and the rather prominent groan from the crowd that could only be from Sherlock Holmes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	66. Scars (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is loosely inspired by Scars are for the living by KittieHill. Thank you to this person for the inspiration of a wounded, abused Sherlock and an overprotective John. I very much recommend this work and will have it in my bookmarks, if you want to check it out. :)
> 
> Enjoy. :)

John yelled at Sherlock in a fit of anger. 

Sherlock had been increasingly pressing his buttons and one could only go so far before one snapped. He had left without John a week earlier and had not contacted John. Mycroft had said that Sherlock was with him, so John assumed that everything was fine.

The final straw occurred when the detective had returned to the flat, covered in mud and soaked to the bone. Sherlock made a clamour as he returned and John had been forced to send his date home. He had been hopeful too, but she had been livid when she left. 

John may or may have not had a few glasses of wine. He was a bit intoxicated and it only added to his annoyance. He yelled as soon as she left and then the flat was silent. 

He had glared at Sherlock as he stumbled to grab a flannel to wipe the mud off of the carpet before it dried. Finally, he stood stepped towards the detective.

Sherlock had not moved; he seemed to have retreated into his mind palace and simply stood in the middle of the room, his clothes and hair soaked. He was shivering from the cold.

John noticed he had a leaf tangled in his curls. He reached to brush it from his hair, only to have Sherlock cringe at the touch. He let out a small whimper and hit John’s hand, weakly grabbing his wrist and dropping it.

Sherlock turned his cheek to John. His curls were as limp as his limbs and he kept his eyes on his feet. “Go ahead. I know you want to hit me, to hurt me. Everyone does.” Sherlock whispered. “Just made it quick.”

John stared in shock, but stepped forward. Sherlock flinched, bracing himself for the impact, but instead jumped as he felt a warm pair of arms encircle his body. “Shh…” John whispered as he felt the tension drain from Sherlock’s body as the man whimpered and collapsed onto John’s chest. “Let’s go shower, go to bed. We can talk about this tomorrow.”

John scooped the detective into his arms and carried him into the bathroom like an infant. Under the warm water, the red marks and cuts and bruises on Sherlock’s skin seemed vibrant. John tried to kiss them, to make them better, but the scars extended further than the skin; they had left an imprint on Sherlock. John immediately vowed to find his attacker, his abuser. 

Blood was easily washed down the drain, but the scars would not fade for a long time and John wanted to ensure that those scars would endure longer than the man who had inflicted them. 

John made true on his promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	67. Chances (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A continuation from yesterday's chapter. I will add one more installment tomorrow.
> 
> This chapter, as well as yesterday's and tomorrow's, is loosely inspired by Scars are for the living by KittieHill. Thank you to this person for the inspiration of a wounded, abused Sherlock and an overprotective John. I very much recommend this work and will have it in my bookmarks, if you want to check it out. :)
> 
> Enjoy.

Sherlock fell asleep in John’s bed that night, curled to John’s chest. His eye had started to swell and bruise and John almost could not bear to leave. He feared that Sherlock would awaken, that Sherlock would find John gone and think the worst. He had the right to think that, though. 

John, he definitely wasn't going to an amusement park.

John knew that he would be leaving that night; that he would be fulfilling his promise. Mycroft knew too. As soon as Sherlock had stumbled into the flat, bruised and bloodied, an address and a time, a few hours later, had appeared on his phone.

So had a bottle of non-addictive pills that would make sure the detective slept. Maybe it was for the pain, maybe it was so that he would not know. Maybe Mycroft had sent them for both reasons.

Whatever the answer was, John carefully removed himself from Sherlock’s side, got dressed, and pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s forehead. 

“I love you.” He whispered. Why had he not realized it earlier? Why had they wasted precious time? Why might their first kiss be a last kiss? John sighed and turned. He had been on his way out of the flat when he remembered them.

His dog tags. What if he never returned? It was a possibility that John did not want to consider. He did not want to examine the probabilities. 

He found a piece of paper and scribbled a quick note to Sherlock and left it next to the kettle on the stove. He filled it with water, in case Sherlock needed to make tea when he awoke. Hopefully, he would return before then, but there was always a chance that...

Quietly, he crept back into the room and pressed his cold dog tags into Sherlock’s palms. Unable to resist, he pressed another kiss to the man’s forehead and took a mental snapshot of his detective, his best friend, the man he loved, had always loved, despite his denial. 

Then, he grabbed his gun and spare bullets and left the flat, locking the door behind him. 

A black car waited for him, ready to take him back to the battlefield. Well, at least to the battlefield in his mind. 

***

Sherlock never drank the water that held the dissolved pills, though he wished that he had. He had not fallen asleep, even though he wanted to slip into oblivion. He just couldn't. 

Sherlock watched under hooded eyelids as John quickly dressed himself and kissed him. He felt the cold metal in his hands and did all he could to suppress the sob until he heard the lock on the front door click.

He wanted so badly to go after his soldier, to tell him that he was not worth it, but he knew that John would not listen, that the man had silently vowed to protect Sherlock at all costs. Now, due to his own stupidity, Sherlock had gotten hurt and John wanted blood.

He silently peered out of the window, watching his soldier walk steadily and assuredly to the black car that no doubt held his brother as well. 

The black car pulled away and Sherlock watched as his brother and his soldier, his doctor, his world, went to what might be their last vow. Sherlock flinched at the possibility. 

There was always a chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	68. Retribution (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Happy Ending and a continuation from yesterday. 
> 
> Again, thank you to KittieHill for the inspiration for these three chapters.
> 
> Enjoy. :)

John and Mycroft arrived at the underground garage soon after leaving Baker Street.

They sat in silence in the car; both of the gazed out of their respective windows and tried not to think about what would occur.

“Dr. Watson, we are here.” Mycroft finally murmured as he opened a case that had been sitting by his side. He pulled several throwing knives from their encasements and proceeded to place them up his sleeves, in his waistcoat, and in his socks. “You are prepared for the worst? We are infiltrating them, taking them down. What we are doing is highly dangerous. My team may be able to render them helpless, but that takes time. I cannot ensure that you will be safe.”

“You should have realized by now that I do not do safe.” John grinned wearily. “Do you think that I did not know the dangers? Of course I did, and I am here. I want to set an example, want everyone to know that if they so much as look at him maliciously, they will incur my wrath. You may be the government, but I am a man with nothing to lose but that man.”

Mycroft locked eyes with the doctor and nodded once, then extended his hand. “Dr. Watson, should you survive, I expect an announcement by the end of the week.” John, deep-down, was both honored and slightly startled at the approval from the politician. He was being absolutely serious. 

The two of them exited the vehicle, with Mycroft murmuring orders into an earpiece. He held his umbrella in his hand and motioned for John to follow him. 

Suddenly, a shot rang out and all Hell broke loose.

***

The kidnappers were isolated and tied to chairs. They could not see each other, but they could hear the screams of their companions. Mycroft needed them for questioning and John wanted retribution. John was given five minutes with each man and, with an average of three minutes per man, had delivered the willing men to the politician. 

After “interrogating” the fifth man, John was pulled to the side by the man’s assistant. “Dr. Watson, you appear to have been shot. Will you let our doctors examine you or would you rather return home? Mr. Holmes no longer needs you. He assures you that these men will be punished appropriately.” Anthea held a medical kit in her hands. “He would rather the blood be on his hands than yours.”

John finally noticed that a bullet had grazed his arm; he had not even noticed it. He resigned to patch his own arm in the car on the way to Baker Street. He had only been gone a few hours and, with any luck, Sherlock would still be asleep.

***

Sherlock held the note and the dog tags in his hands, watching as the light of the rising sun reflected dully on the metal. He had memorized every word of the note, but he could not put it down. If he did, John might disappear. 

He jumped as he heard the door open, heard the steady stride of his weary doctor. He rushed into the front room, searching wildly for the man.

John stood in the kitchen, looking for the note. His shirt was torn, his jacket lost long ago. A bandage encircled his bicep. Blood had seeped through his clothes, splattering him in various places. This man was not the warm, doctor that Sherlock knew. The man’s cold gaze and straight stature was Captain John Watson, the soldier. 

The blood on his clothes was too much to be his. His knuckles were raw with what looked to be teeth marks. They had been disinfected; Sherlock could smell the cleaner. 

Sherlock stepped towards the man slowly, setting the note and the dog tags on the table between them. As soon as the man noticed the detective, his gaze melted and he once again became the happy, cheerful doctor who liked tea and jumpers.

“John,” Sherlock took a hesitant step towards the doctor. 

“Sherlock,” John stepped towards him so that they were merely inches apart. “Did you…?”

“Every word.” Sherlock replied as he gazed into the doctor’s eyes. “You are too protective of me.”

“So…”

“It’s yes. My answer is, how you put it, ‘oh god yes’.” Sherlock smiled at the doctor. “If you have no objections. Your girlfriends…”

“Thought I was in love with you. That is why the last one left. I do not even remember her name.” John grinned. “So… what do we-”

Suddenly, John’s mouth was covered with Sherlock’s and, in that moment, everything seemed right.

***

The announcement was made at the New Scotland Yard that Friday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	69. Sentiment (Johnlock) (Mystrade)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I intended for this to be funny. I did not plan on including murder...
> 
> Enjoy?

Mycroft strode into the small flat and stood in front of his brother. The detective was clearly in his mind palace, so Mycroft decided to give his brother a rather...rude awakening. 

He found a relatively clean mug and filled it with the hottest water he could manage from the faucet. He then proceeded to pour the water onto his brother's head. 

Sherlock jumped at the shock of the rather warm water on his head and glared at his brother.

Their eyes narrowed at each other, waiting for one of them to strike. Finally, Mycroft growled, “Where is it? Where is my umbrella?”

“Why would I have your umbrella? Do you not have a tracking device in it?” Sherlock said nonchalantly as he moved to the other side of the sofa, one that was not soaked with water.

“You disabled it.” Mycroft said as he began to grow impatient. Sherlock definitely had his umbrella; he just needed to be “convinced” into releasing its whereabouts.

***

Greg had given John a lift from work and John had invited him for a few beers. As soon as they entered the flat, they found the two brothers wrestling on the ground like children. Mycroft had a mug in his and and was trying to hit Sherlock. Sherlock, for some odd reason, had an American tennis racket in his hand and tried to swat at his brother’s head.

The DI ended the fight by handcuffing the men together and pushing them both onto the sofa. 

Mycroft grimaced as he landed in the wet spot and he pouted as he faced a scolding from his lover. Greg and John, meanwhile, tried to straighten the mess to which the flat had been reduced. 

“Where did you get a tennis racket, Sherlock? I did not think you know what tennis was.” John murmured as he set the former weapon aside. Finally, the two men stood in front of the brothers.

“Now, what happened?” Greg began cautiously. The brothers glared at each other and began.

***

Greg and John had handcuffed them together and tied the handcuffs to the couch. They had left to go to the pub and were not expected until enough time had passed for the brothers to work on their differences.

Sherlock rested his head on the sofa, staring at the ceiling. “I did not take your umbrella.” He said finally. 

“Then what…”

“Your lovely boyfriend wanted to fix some of the equipment on it for your anniversary. The last time I supposedly stole it… I did not steal it; I was running diagnostics. It was severely outdated. Why are you so attached to it?” Sherlock kept his eyes on the ceiling as Mycroft suddenly felt a wave of embarrassment rush over him.

“Sentiment, dear brother. The reasons that humans do anything.” Mycroft murmured. “You did not remember father, but he gave me that umbrella when you were born. He said I needed to use it to protect you. He had it especially made with a gun barrel and a bayonet on a spring. He knew that they were after him and… he wanted us to be safe. He made me promise to protect you.”

“You never told me...what happened to him? I've seen Mummy’s pictures, but she never elaborated.” Sherlock turned to finally face his brother. Mycroft had a pained expression.

Carefully maneuvering around the handcuffs, he wrapped an arm around his brother’s shoulders and hugged him awkwardly.

“I do not want to talk about it now, if that is alright.” Mycroft sighed as he closed his eyes. He felt a lump form in his throat as he tried to suppress the memories. “Just know that he was murdered and that the case was solved. The men were punished to the full extent of the law.”

“That first case you gave me… I could not have been ten. You changed the names, didn't you? You let me solve his murder. I knew the images looked familiar.”

Mycroft chuckled wearily at his brother’s perceptions. “I can never get anything past you, can I, Lock?”

“You promise you will tell me later?” Sherlock murmured. His voice was distant in his brother’s ears; the emotional and physical exhaustion was starting to settle on his body. Mycroft only managed to nod in his response before he was fast asleep.

***

“Thanks for helping me, John. Mycroft will love this.” Greg said as he gestured to the gift-wrapped, newly-repaired umbrella that was under his arm. “I suppose we should get our men.”

They crept up the stairs, careful not to wake Mrs. Hudson, and John quietly began giggling as he entered the flat.

Sherlock’s arms were wrapped around his brother and both were gently sleeping To John, the two men were absolutely adorable, so he snapped a photo on his phone for further blackmail against the brothers.

“And he said that he doesn't do sentiment.” John scoffed jokingly to Greg as they turned to rouse their boyfriends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	70. Flowers (Anthooper)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry that this is late. I have been trying to get caught up on my work, but life happens. 
> 
> Enjoy.

Anthea signed as she opened the door to the flat. She dropped her bag and removed her shoes.

Mycroft had been especially busy and, being his bodyguard, she was forced to follow him everywhere.

She found Molly asleep on the sofa, curled in a blanket with a bowl of popcorn beside her. She had been watching a documentary about Egyptian mummification processes. Anthea could only smiled as she lifted the small woman into her arms and carried her into the bedroom. 

Molly wrapped her arms around Anthea’s neck and rested her head on her shoulder as she was carried. “Why are you so strong?” She murmured. 

“Because I have to be able to protect you.” Anthea whispered as she kissed Molly’s cheek and opened the door to the bedroom.

She nearly dropped her girlfriend when she saw what lay on the bed.

The bouquet stood out, bright red on the black duvet that they had chosen upon moving in together. They were not roses, but then again, the person who had sent them had never been much of a romantic. 

“Did you put these in here?” Anthea asked Molly as she set her in the doorway. 

Molly shook her head, then whispered, “I've been on the sofa since I returned from the morgue. I thought maybe Mycroft had sent them. Are they dangerous?” Molly moved to hide behind her girlfriend as Anthea approached the bundle. 

A note was attached to the flowers. Quickly examining it, Anthea deduced from the perfume on the card and from the handwriting that…

No, it couldn’t be. She opened the note and then let it fall to the floor as she rushed out of the room. 

Molly moved to look at the note, reading the words aloud to herself.

“To my dear Anthea...I am back and all of us need to have a talk. The usual place at tea time this Saturday. Wear appropriate attire. I expect you ALL to be on your best behavior. Forward this message. You had better not be late. Sincerely, M. Holmes.”

Molly examined the note curiously. Who was M. Holmes? Surely it wasn't Mycroft. His handwriting was less...feminine, and he did not wear perfume. 

Slowly, Molly crept into the room and found Anthea on her mobile.   
“Yes Mycroft. She is back. I can send you images. It is her. We need to develop a plan. Warn Lockie that we will all be arriving for dinner. Operation M is a go.”

Anthea ended the called and her shoulders slumped. Molly moved to massage her shoulders and leaned in to whisper into her ear as she did so.

“Is everything alright? Who is this M. Holmes?”

Anthea tensed and took a deep breath. “M. Holmes stands for Mummy Holmes. Be prepared, my dear. You get to meet my mother on Saturday.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	71. Reassurance (Mystrade)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I plan on having two more installments to this Mummy Dearest arch, as I call it. 
> 
> If you have any suggestions as to what you would like to see on Saturday, feel free to comment!
> 
> Enjoy.

Mycroft and Greg sat on the sofa, enjoying the silence with each other.

Mycroft had a difficult day and lay with his long limbs splayed on the sofa. His head rested in his boyfriend’s lap, and he gently dozed as his boyfriend incessantly read a detective novel. Mycroft had criticized him repeatedly for his reading choices, but the Inspector rather enjoyed the crime fiction genre.

Even though the clock only read five in the afternoon, Greg had resigned himself to dragging his boyfriend to bed for a decent sleep that was not on the cramped sofa. He had decided that they could have a late dinner if both of them took a long nap when the chirp of Mycroft’s mobile pierced the air. 

The man’s blue eyes flew open and he was immediately alert and across the room, speaking in a hushed tone. 

Whatever was said made him slump against the fireplace and cast a weary gaze towards Gregory. His eyes focused on the silver ring around the Inspector’s left hand that matched the one he wore under his shirt on a chain.

“Thank you. I will call them when they return to Baker Street. Yes, I am looking at the cameras at the moment. They are not home. Yes, I will see you in a few hours. Yes, bring her too. See you soon.”

Mycroft ended the call and let out a frustrated sigh. He punched the wall and displaced some of the paint.

Greg was immediately at his lover’s side, cradling the man’s hand and kissing it to make it better. “What’s wrong, love?” He asked as Mycroft leaned into his body. He guided them back to the sofa and the man curled into the Inspector’s chest.

“My mother is coming.” Mycroft murmured. “My mother is coming and she does not know about any of our...living arrangements. I have to tell my mother that she will never have biological grandchildren, at least not from me.”

“Is your mother that terrible, Mycroft? You are her child. Surely she will love you…”

“Gregory, this is the woman who raised Sherlock, Anthea, and myself. We have not spoken since Sherlock left rehab. She only spoke to us because he was in rehab. She wanted to make sure that he would not damage the reputation of the Holmes family. Now she has suddenly reappeared? This shall be hellish, I believe.” Mycroft was trying to stay calm as his mind raced. His heart rate increased and he felt claustrophobic suddenly.

“Myc,” Greg placed a hand on Mycroft’s cheek and forced the politician to meet his eyes. “Calm down. We can get through this...situation, yeah? We are going to get the crew together and we are going to fix it. You have me and I will make sure that she knows my mind if she says anything against us. Now, you need to rest. If we have to meet Sherlock and Anthea later, you need to be able to think clearly and this sleep deprivation is causing you to panic. Just sleep, yeah? I’ll wake you when we need to leave.”

The politician settled in Greg’s arms and, as soon as he was asleep, the Inspector released a shaky sigh. It couldn’t be that bad, could it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	72. A Meeting (Johnlock) (Mystrade) (Anthooper)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The group meets and discusses Mummy.
> 
> Also, a bit of Johnlock fluff and comfort. 
> 
> Enjoy. :)

Sherlock groaned as his mobile beeped. 

He rolled onto his side in the bed and attempted to hide his ears from the noise by curling into the naked chest of his lover. John giggled as the man’s hair tickled his neck and he gently reached over the man to check the mobile.

The message was from Greg on Mycroft’s phone and told them that they would be expecting company within the next few hours. 

“What could possibly constitute all of them coming here?” Sherlock murmured into John’s neck as his lips quickly found a pulse point.

John tried to frown, but it was only half-hearted and he began giggling as Sherlock's curls brushed his skin. “Will you stop that? You know that I am ticklish. Look, we need to get showered before they get here. I am sure your brother does not want to deduce what we have been doing all day. Now, care to join me or not?”

Sherlock grinned and wrapped his arms around his lover and kissed him. “I hope when you say shower that you mean something entirely different.”

“Don’t I always?” John winked as he grabbed Sherlock’s arm and pulled the two of them to the bathroom.

***

A few hours later, everyone was in the sitting area. Chairs had been appropriated and they all sat in a circle. John, as a forethought, had ordered take-away for everyone and they ate in silence. 

Finally, Sherlock cleared his throat and set his gaze on his brother. “Now, will you please tell me what is happening? You never call family meetings.”

“Anthea, if you would.” Anthea then passed the note to Sherlock that accompanied her flowers, briefly explaining the circumstances. Sherlock scowled slightly and passed it to John. 

“So, you are afraid.” Sherlock finally said to Mycroft and Anthea. “You are afraid that you have changed so much due to your...goldfish, as I call them, that you wish not to confront her. You are afraid to disappoint Mummy. As always.” Sherlock scoffed with his last sentence. 

“Sherlock!” John scolded, shooting the man a look that told him to back off on the insults.

“He’s right.” Anthea murmured. “Our mother, she has expressed her intent for us to marry well within society and to...reproduce.”

“And she will certainly disapprove that her children are all in homosexual relationships,” added Mycroft. 

“I’m bisexual, actually,” rang a chorus from the goldfish. 

“We know,” sighed the three Holmes members.

They fell into an uneasy silence. “So, what do we do?” Molly finally said. “The three of us don’t know what to expect. Is she going to try to kill us? Attack us? How bad is this? You two seem extremely uneasy. Sherlock, you are indifferent. And, what if she’s changed? Maybe she realized that she just wants you to be happy?”

The three Holmes members rolled their eyes and scoffed in a manner that showed their likeness. “This is our mother of whom you are speaking.” Mycroft added.

Molly’s face fell and Anthea placed a hand on her shoulder, murmuring an apology in her ear. 

“Well, there are six of us and one of her.” John said. “If she tries anything, we can stand up to her. If you three are afraid, we can do it. Right, Greg? Molly?” The other two goldfish nodded in an wavering manner. “That’s settled then.” 

The six enjoyed an after-dinner cuppa and eventually dispersed. 

As John and Sherlock were finally left alone, Sherlock again found his place in his doctor’s arms.

“Are you scared?” John whispered into the detective’s ear.

“There is a strong likelihood that the woman who raised me will not approve of us, of what we have. She might reject all of us, and I hate to be sentimental, but I do hold some sense of childlike affection towards her. She made me who I am. Because of her, I found you and I am so happy about that, but I do not want to face her rejection. How should I feel? I do not know what to feel, John. I am terrified, yes, but I have to be the strong one now,,,for them, for us. I need to be distanced in order to cope, but I do not want to be. I just want her to accept us. That is all I want. I want her to be at all of our weddings and I want our child, should we ever find ourselves with one, to have a grandmother who will love him or her. I do not know what to do, John.”

Sherlock buried himself further into his doctor's chest, sighing as he sought and found skin-to-skin contact as his arms wandered up John's jumper. He calmed slightly but still remained tense. John gently stroked the detective's curls, and he relaxed further. 

“I’m sorry.” John murmured. “I’ll protect you as much as I can.”

“Thank you John," He paused. "I love you.”

“I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	73. Mummy Dearest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess what? It's Saturday! (Well, it's actually Sunday, but you understand.)
> 
> Thank you to Lion_62 and to MyriadProBold for both their comments and for their suggestions for this chapter.
> 
> Enjoy. :)

They all arrived at the Holmes estate in the same car. They were met at the door by a wide-eyed butler who promptly escorted them into a sitting room. The tension on everyone’s shoulders was palpable. Even Sherlock took a shot of the alcohol that was offered to him from the decanter on the table.

Then, SHE strode gracefully into the room. 

Elizabeth Holmes was almost in her seventies, but she looked to be at least twenty years younger, the grey among her black curls the only indicator of her true age. Of the three Holmes siblings, Sherlock was nearly her mirror. Mycroft, according to the photographs on the mantelpiece, looked like his father. Anthea was only related through adoption, but she still had the high cheekbones and cold glare of a Holmes.

The four of them locked eyes in what seemed to be an unspoken battle of the minds.

Finally, however, John stepped in front of the Holmes siblings and offered his hand to Mrs. Holmes. “Hello, I’m Doctor John-”

“Watson, yes. I know who you are.” She said indignantly. She then gestured to the other two goldfish who were standing with their respective partners. “And you are Doctor Molly Hooper and Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade. It appears that my children have become... fond of you. Sentiment. Disgusting.” She turned to address her children. “What do you have to say for yourselves? Who is going to carry on with the Holmes lineage? What will society think? What have I always told you?” Her tone was reprimanding and each child flinched and seemed to shrink under her harsh words.

Softly, they all muttered, “Caring is not an advantage.”

She seemed smug, until Molly stepped forward. “Who do you think you are? Do you not know that you are just a bully? You oppress them in order to feel better about how alone you are. You do not care for their emotions and, though caring may not be advantage to you, not caring creates many more enemies. You do not care for your children and they have been set back for years with regards to their emotional capabilities. And they resent you for it.”

“Do you know how upset our partners were? We have rarely seen them in such a compromised state, a state that is caused by the mere mention of you.” Greg interjected. “I do not care if you like me or not; I could care less. What I do care about, however, is your children. Anthea and Sherlock are practically my younger siblings. God, I was the one who primarily got your son clean while you were...wherever. As for Mycroft...words fail to describe how I am irrevocably in love with him. I want him to be happy and I will do ANYTHING to ensure it. I am not afraid of you. I've been kidnapped for this man and for his brother. As Pat Benatar said in 1980: ‘hit me with your best shot.’”

Finally, John stepped forward to stand beside Greg and Molly. “We love your children. Even if you do not care, we do. We may be goldfish and we may not be as smart as our brilliant geniuses, but we hope that we make them happy. I do not want to brag, but we have made them discover what actually makes them human. They are not your robots anymore: they are alive and they have hearts, contrary to popular belief. And we will not let you take that away from them unless you are stepping over our cold, dead bodies. Now, if you have nothing nice to say, we can escort ourselves-”

The goldfish returned to their partners and started to lead them towards the doorway until Mummy Holmes shouted, “Wait. Mycroft, Sherlock, Anthea. Do you really love these...goldfish?”

“Yes, mother, we do.” They said in a chorus with set faces.

Finally, Elizabeth Holmes released a deep laugh that left confusion on the faces of everyone. “Well, it’s about damn time you found partners.” 

“What?” said the Holmes children as they looked at each other, trying to understand what exactly was happening and why their mother, a woman of high society, was cursing. 

“My children, I apologize for how I used to be. I was raised in a homophobic , so you could understand how I opposed it. Until recently, in fact. I called this meeting for two reasons. One, I wanted to say that my behavior in the past was incorrigible and that my eyes have been opened. You could say I found my own goldfish. I hope we can repair what time has broken, if you will allow it. Second, I would like to say that I give my blessing.” She locked eyes with each goldfish. “You are all more amazing than you know and you have shown me that caring can be an advantage.”

Everyone broken into huge smiles, until Mycroft finally frowned. “How did you know that we had partners? I thought you broke contact years ago.”

Elizabeth smiled, her eyes twinkling in the lamplight. “Mycroft, my dear. I am the mother of the British government. You really thought that I did not have a way of ensuring that my children are safe. Even though I have not shown it, I still love you, you idiotic children.”

Everyone laughed and they all ate dinner together. Sherlock, Mycroft, and Anthea played a trio of the violin, piano, and harp (because the Holmes Estate had a harp) and, at the end of the night, a night that was supposed to end terribly, each couple walked hand-in-hand to the car as their mother watched with a weary smile, happy that her children had found love but sad that they were no longer just her children.

She tried to place the new found feeling.

Bittersweet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	74. Tickles (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy. :)

“John, get away from me or I swear I will-” Sherlock stammered as he climbed onto the sofa and swatted at the advancing soldier with a wooden kitchen spoon.

Said spoon had witnessed both the events that caused this situation and the events that followed. 

John had been trying to enjoy a nice evening. He had not had any major cases at the clinic and he generally felt great. The weather was chilly outside, so he had decided to make soup. He found one of his mother’s recipes and the soup had almost finished when Sherlock had stormed from his room, upset that an experiment with fingers was not going as planned.

So, in his boredom, Sherlock decided to deposit the fingers into the soup when John was not looking. The fingers were only discovered when John went to ladle the soup into a bowl.

Needless to say, he was rather upset. Sherlock, being the primary target of John’s irritated state, he grabbed the spoon as soon as John stepped in his direction.

The chase ended with Sherlock being cornered on the sofa, wildly waving a spoon at John. John merely plucked the spoon from Sherlock’s hand and deposited it on the table, his eyes narrowed at Sherlock.

“I think someone needs to be punished. Sherlock, you know the rules. Your experiments stay in your lab and away from any and all food.” John said in his captain voice. “What shall your punishment be? I know…” A wicked smile spread across John’s face. “Sherlock, do you remember that thing I did the other night?” The doctor leaned towards his lover, placing his arms around the man but not touching him.

“I’m not ticklish, John.” Sherlock stammered as he watched the doctor’s hands. He tried to push himself further into the cushions. A faint blush gave away his bluff.

“I think you are. Why don’t I just check?”

Suddenly, John’s hands were under Sherlock’s arms, his fingers wiggling and digging into his sides. Sherlock gasped as the sensations overcame him. He could not refrain from giggling under John’s touch.

“I apologize. I’ll buy dinner. Please stop.” Sherlock managed to say between gasps. Finally, John relented and kissed Sherlock’s forehead.

“I love you, you know.” John murmured as Sherlock gripped his shirt and pulled him into a deep kiss. “Now I have something against you.”

“I thought love meant that one did not blackmail the other for being oversensitive.” Sherlock huffed as he released the man. “You know that I will find something to use against you now.”

“Bring it on, my love.” John laughed, and they both sat on the sofa, giggling and kissing and cuddling as the spoon (and the soup on the stove) was left forgotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	75. Photographs (Mystrade)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of Mystrade for today.
> 
> Enjoy. :)

Mycroft gently closed the bedroom door as he silently began to undo his tie. He did not want to wake Gregory; it was nearly three in the morning.

He paused, however, when he realized that his boyfriend was awake. The bedside lamp was on and Gregory’s eyes were so busy examining a box of what appeared to be photographs that he did not notice the politician. Gregory’s eyes were red and swollen; he appeared to have been crying.

Mycroft gently opened the door and closed it a bit more forcefully, enough to alert his boyfriend to his presence. Greg finally looked at him, but quickly turned from the man in an attempt to cover his face in the guise of gathering the photos.

“Hey,”

“Hello.” Mycroft quickly undressed and climbed onto the bed so he could gently wrap his arms around the man. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just memories.” Greg murmured. “I-I forgot their faces.” 

“Pardon?” Greg turned in Mycroft’s arms so he could look at the politician. Greg tensed when he saw the unguarded, caring look in Mycroft’s eyes, but he relaxed after a shaky breath.

“My family. I forgot what their faces looked like and I needed to see the pictures and it was a bit too much.” 

“What happened? To your family, I mean.” 

Greg suddenly turned and placed the box of images on their laps. He extracted a few and held them out to Mycroft. The first photo contained a boy of about ten smiling at the camera as his parents sat on a picnic blanket in the background.

“That was a month before the car accident. I was with my grandmother and they were on a dare. A drunk driver- I became a detective because of that accident. They convicted him fifteen years later thank to my help.” Greg flipped to another image, one of an elderly woman tending to a small vegetable garden. Her smile was warm and so similar to Gregory’s.

“That was my grandmother. She was French; she ensured that I was bilingual. She raised me. She died right before I joined the academy.” Greg’s brow furrowed as he flipped to a final photo. It held the image of a small cottage in what appeared to be the British countryside.

“That was her house. I loved it so much, but I had to sell it when I came here. I couldn’t afford the upkeep and I was a bachelor. I really wish that I had kept it, rented it out or something. I miss that place sometimes.”  
Greg wiped the sudden tears that had sprung from his eyes and leaned into Mycroft’s embrace. “I’m so glad that I have you.” He murmured as he quickly fell asleep. 

Carefully, Mycroft gathered the photographs and set the box on the other bedside table. As he held the images in his hand, an idea struck him.

He silently typed out a message on his mobile to Anthea.

How much do you know about real estate? I have a task for you. - MH

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	76. Memories (Mystrade)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Mycroft bought Greg a house. 
> 
> I have a few more ideas for this setting, but i'll do them later in the week. 
> 
> Enjoy. :)

Greg Lestrade did not know what to think as his boyfriend handed him a suitcase and informed him that they would both be taking the week from their jobs. Before he had time to question Mycroft, he was being ushered into a black car with windows tinted so dark that he could barely see outside.

“Where are we going, Myc?” He asked as the politician sat beside him on the faux leather seats.

Mycroft only smiled knowingly and opened his laptop as they began their journey.

Greg was still confused a few hours later as he watched the English countryside pass by them. The route seemed familiar, but he simply could not think of any destination that Mycroft might choose for a holiday that would be in the English countryside. 

Finally, the answer hit him as the car stopped in front of a small cottage. It was exactly as he had remembered it; although, the paint seemed to be new and fresh flowers bloomed in the garden.

He looked at Mycroft in awe, but the man simply smiled and took Greg’s hand to help him from the vehicle. 

“Mycroft, why are we here?” Greg asked as they stepped through the small doorway. Sunlight streamed through the windows and illuminated the sitting room and the kitchen. 

In his mind’s eye, Greg could see his grandmother making stew at the stove as he played with magnets on the refrigerator or as he searched for more ingredients in the canned herb drawer. He saw his mother and father sitting in front of the fire, cuddled close together and sharing lazy kisses as his grandmother urged him to bed so she could read him a bedtime story. He saw the chew marks on the stair railing from when his first dog was just a teething pup.

The memories flooded his head and he leaned against Mycroft for support. Mycroft pressed a kiss to his forehead and guided them both to the sofa, where Greg proceeded to press his face into Mycroft’s chest as he felt the tears begin to form. The memories, they were so happy and so painful, so bittersweet that he could barely breath. More than one sob broke from his chest until he finally began crying. 

Mycroft held his boyfriend, soothing him by running his hands up and down the man’s back. 

Finally, he murmured, “I-I thought you would like it. You seemed so upset that you had sold it. I’m sorry if I made you cry. I can sell it…”

“No, Myc. I love it. I just...wasn't expecting this. Usually people buy each other stuffed animals and flowers and you buy a house. You are becoming extremely sentimental. Thank you. Words cannot describe how much I love you. I did not know it was possible to love you even more than I did, but I love you a hundred times more now.”

Greg and Mycroft smiled at each other as they kissed lazily by the fireplace, content and happy with the embrace and love of the other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	77. Visits (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of fluff with Mummy Holmes and Mira. 
> 
> This prompt was inspired by the lovely lion_62. As always, thank you for your support and suggestions.
> 
> Enjoy. :)

“Mira, remember to behave. No scorpions until your father or I are here.” John said as he knelt beside the pouting toddler. “Your grandmother will be watching you and, unlike Ms. Hudson, she hasn't had her hip replaced. Do not break your grandmother. If you are good, you get a scorpion and one of your father’s spare hands and you can experiment all you want with it.”

“Fine,” huffed the three-year old who tried to appear uninterested in the offer. She sat in her father’s place on the sofa and began to sulk. 

John smiled at her and ruffled her dark curls as her father secured his coat and scarf on his person. 

“Daddy, if I am good, can I use your special microscope when you get back?” She asked suddenly, standing in her place on the sofa and swatting John’s hand.

Sherlock knelt beside her and picked her up. “Only if you are especially nice to your grandmother.” He said as he tapped her nose with his finger. “I might even let you use the-”

“We are not letting her use the Bunsen burner, Sherlock.” John hissed as they heard the knock on the door. “That would be your mother.” 

John opened it and let Elizabeth Holmes into the flat.

***

Mira liked her grandmother for the most part. Grandma would give her sweets and call her “honeybee” and would tell stories. 

Today, however, the child was not happy that she had been barred from experimenting with severed appendages without the presence of someone. They found her that morning in the lab kitchen, separating human fingers by their size and fingerprint types. They had also taken away her friend, her friend being Toby, the severed head that had been in the freezer for two weeks. So, she definitely did not want to be reminded how small she was.

She sat in silence on the sofa as her grandmother bustled around the kitchen and finally placed a sandwich in front of her. “I’m not hungry.” was the only response that Elizabeth received because the child then turned on her side and placed her hands over her ears, trying to ignore both her grandmother and her thoughts.

Elizabeth sat beside the child and pulled her into her lap, letting the child curl against her chest. “What’s wrong, my honeybee?”

“They took Toby. They said that I can’t play with him anymore. Toby was my only friend.” The child pouted. “And they won’t let me play with the scorpions either.”  
“Why do you want to play with the scorpions?”

The child thought for a moment, then stated matter-of-factly, “They look like dragons and I like dragons. I like how they are dangerous and have hard exoskeletons. When I grow up, i want to be a scorpion because dragons don’t exist and I thus cannot be a dragon.”

Elizabeth smiled at the child. “That is a good reason. I’ll talk to your fathers when they get home. Right now, I think you should go to bed. It’s rather late. Eat quickly and I’ll go get your dragon pyjamas.”

***

Sherlock and John crept into the flat, covered in mud, at around three in the morning. They found Elizabeth Holmes reading on the sofa with the small child wrapped around her.

“She had a bad dream.” She mouthed as she lifted the child in her arms. “Something about losing her friend Toby.” She cocked an eyebrow at her son and her son-in-law.

A guilty look suddenly overcame John and Sherlock. “We’ll fix it.” They murmured as she handed the sleeping child to John, who smoothed down her curls and pressed a kiss to her forehead. 

“Thank you, Elizabeth. We really appreciate this. We know she is going to be like us, but we also want to make sure that she has some other influences in her life. She really enjoys spending time with you. Lock, I’m going to put her in our bed tonight. You go shower first. Goodnight, Elizabeth.”

John then took Mira into the bedroom, leaving Sherlock and his mother alone. 

“She is just like you. I adore her.” Mummy Holmes smiled. “Thank you for letting me be a part of her life. I wasn't always the best mother in the past. I suppose I should be going now.”

“You, however, are an excellent grandmother.” Sherlock smiled as he gestured after John and Mira. “Thank you. Goodnight.”

And with that, Elizabeth Holmes left the flat. She was slightly happier, more lighthearted than when she had first arrived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	78. Stupid Mistakes (Mystrade)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft panics and Greg comforts him. 
> 
> Enjoy.

The cold tile of the bathroom felt so nice against his cheek. 

The anxiety and panic building in his chest, however, did not.

Mycroft Holmes simply curled into his body, trying anything to stop the rolling waves of nausea and the rapid heart rate that felt as if his chest was going to explode. His head pounded and his face hurt from the sudden desire to cry. 

He glanced at the report on the tile beside him. Ten dead, all on his hands. He had been so stupid! And now others had paid for his mistake. He deserved what he got, he thought. He deserved this sick feeling and whatever other punishment was given to him for his mistake.

Still, the cold tile was strangely comforting to his body that no longer seemed attached to his mind. He wanted to stand, to crawl into bed, but his limbs would no move. He could only gasp as he tried to find air, to get it into his lungs. He felt dizzy; if he hadn't already been on the floor, he would have collapsed by now. 

He sighed as he used all of his energy to place his head on the white basin of the toilet as he felt a new wave of nausea overcome him.

***

Greg heard the soft sobs as he entered their bedroom. They originated from the attached bathroom and he rushed to the room to find Mycroft on the floor, seeming to be in a state of panic. 

Greg locked eyes with Mycroft and placed the man’s hand on his chest. “Steady your breathing. Take a deep breath through your nose and breath through your mouth.” Mycroft repeated the exercise, but his breathing still remained uneven and his heart rate was still elevated.

The inspector rushed to his boyfriends side and drew him to his chest. “Mycroft, what is the derivative of x squared plus three x?”

Mycroft looked at Greg for a moment before coughing out, “It’s two x plus three.”

“Name three trees that are native to Greenland.” 

“I do not know of any trees, but I do know that there are five native types of orchids.” Mycroft said, his breath a bit more even. “I don’t see how…” 

“How many countries are there?”

And the questions continued until Mycroft was calm enough to rest his head softly on Greg’s shoulder. Greg stroked the man’s damp hair and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “There, it’s okay.” He whispered into the man’s ear. “You are okay. It wasn't your fault; there was nothing you could have done. Do not blame yourself.”   
“But…” Mycroft tried to pull away, to protest, but Greg held him fast to his chest.

“No, you are not allowed to blame yourself. Anthea texted me; she told me all that she could. So you screwed up and someone got hurt. You can learn from your mistakes and you can save more lives in the future. You cannot change the past but you can improve the future.”

Greg then scooped the man into his arms and carried him to the bedroom. 

Mycroft was numb and tired, and he fell asleep quickly in Greg’s safe embrace, surrounded by a scent that signified everything that was home to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	79. Adorable (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to lion_62 for the prompt! 
> 
> Enjoy. :)

The door to the flat slammed shut. 

“No. Do not even talk.” Sherlock said over his shoulder as he sat on the sofa and placed his fingers under his chin.

“But Sherlock,” John chuckled as he remembered the scene.

One of their cases had involved a preschool and the children had swarmed Sherlock. After an initial shock, Sherlock had warmed to the children and had even participated in one of their games. All in all, John’s heart felt light and warm. He approached the sofa and sat on the edge beside his detective.

“You are adorable.” John grinned as he pressed a kiss to the man’s forehead.

Sherlock visibly reddened at the comment. He stammered a “shut up, John” before turning on his side, away from his boyfriend. 

“But you are. I never thought that I would see the great Sherlock Holmes playing hopscotch with preschoolers. You liked it, admit it.”

Sherlock sighed. “Children are curious and therefore more tolerable. They can learn how not to be Andersons. As for your new term for me, I am a grown man and men aren't adorable.”

“I think you are though.” John laid on the sofa, aligning his body with his detective’s. He buried his face in the man’s neck and breathed in his scent. “You are my honeybee. You are cute and adorable and irritable at times and sexy at others. You are amazing and I love you.”

Sherlock felt as if the breath had been pushed from his chest and his blush seemed to get even more red. He tried to bury his face in the sofa cushion, but John only snuggled closer. “It’s true and you know it.”

“Shut up, John.” Sherlock whispered as he feigned going to sleep. “I’m going to sleep now. Don’t wake me.”

After a few minutes of them lying on the sofa, when Sherlock finally believed the doctor to be asleep, he sighed and whispered, “I love you too.”

Then he turned into John’s embrace and placed his head on the man’s shoulder. Maybe he liked being called adorable, he thought, but he was never going to admit it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	80. Dreams (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy. :)

“How much longer?” asked Sherlock.

John and Sherlock had been walking for what seemed like hours. Finally, in the light of the midday sun, he found the place for which he had been searching.

Before them lay a meadow, a clearing filled with wildflowers of reds and purples and whites. John took a moment to admire the scene before him until he felt a hand on his shoulder, gently turning him. 

Sherlock had a look of fierce determination and confidence as he pulled the doctor flush to his chest, running a hand lazily up his side. John shivered at the contact. “John, you do not know how I long to tell you that I love you. It seems I can only tell you in your drea-.”

And suddenly, John had pulled Sherlock into a hard kiss. His arms went around the detective’s waist and they fell to the ground, tangled in each other’s limbs. Sherlock straddled the man and kissed him deeper, oh so deeper. John wanted more. He wanted everything. He wanted Sherlock.

Sherlock broke the kiss and ran his nose along John’s jaw, nuzzling and kissing at it as he went. “John, I wish...I can’t keep doing what we are doing, this dance-”

“Sherlock, shut up and kiss me.”

“John-” And suddenly all of Sherlock’s weight was gone. John chased the detective, chased the feeling that all was right. Instead, he found himself in an empty field of flowers that were quickly wilting. He suddenly felt panicked; he needed to tell Sherlock...something. He heart felt like it was going to explode…

And John awoke in his bed, drenched in sweat. The sheets were tangled and he had gripped them with white knuckles. He sat back and closed his eyes, trying to calm his breathing and his heart rate and to wish away the arousal that now throbbed between his legs.

It had all been a dream.

***

Sherlock panted heavily as he stood outside of John’s door and listened to the calming, shaky breaths of his doctor. He had made it out of the room just in time. John was none the wiser.

God, his simple beside confession had become so more...intense as soon as John had grabbed him, pulling him into a kiss that he had never wanted to end. But it didn't feel right, not while John was sleeping.

He cursed to himself as he too tried to will away his arousal. He wanted more, so much more than that dream could give. He wanted John.

He heard John’s breathing calm and he slowly, reluctantly returned to his room. He needed to think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	81. Reality (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two in one day? Yes please.
> 
> Alright, so I am just letting everyone know that I may or may not miss a few days this week. I promise that I will have everything caught up by next week. Currently, I am in the middle of tech week for my final show (I'm graduating and this is the final show of the season. It's bittersweet really.) and I may not have as much time as I'd like to do homework and write. So, this chapter is to make up for any future wrongdoings. I hope you all understand. 
> 
> Also, this chapter is a continuation from my previous post. 
> 
> Enjoy. :)

Sherlock sat on his bed, hands steepled under his chin for an indefinite amount of time. When he finally made a decision and returned from his mind palace. He found a mug of tea on his bedside table and a note beside it. John apparently wanted to talk.

Sherlock’s heart dropped. What if he knew about the previous night? 

What if he wanted to leave? 

What if he wanted to stay? Sherlock hoped he would.

Sherlock hesitantly crept into the kitchen, where he found John in his chair, reading the paper. 

“Good morning,” He murmured as he sat in his own chair.

“Good morning,” John said casually as he folded the paper and set his gaze on Sherlock. “So…”

“I received your note.” Sherlock was suddenly very nervous. He looked at his feet and was suddenly overcome with the urge to smoke. He hadn't felt like that for months. The jitters were unnerving.

“Is everything okay? You don’t look like you feel well.” John said in a concerned tone as he moved to stand in front of Sherlock. He placed a hand on the man’s forehead to gauge his temperature. The brief contact sent jolts of energy through Sherlock’s body. 

John gently let his hand drift to cup Sherlock’s face and Sherlock suddenly felt hot. The heat was stifling but he did not want John to stop touch him. He was sick of the waiting and tired of the want. He needed John, and he needed John now. To Hell with courtesy and the manners that his mother and brother had tried to instill.

“Oh, fuck it.” He whispered as he surged forward and captured John’s lips. John tensed initially at the contact, but his mouth soon relented and Sherlock was allowed entrance. John’s fingers carded through Sherlock’s curls and he moved them to the sofa, Sherlock straddling John’s hips.

Finally, they broke the kiss and stared into each other’s eyes.

“Hey,” said John as he cupped Sherlock’s face and ran a calloused thumb over the man’s cheek. 

“Hey,” replied Sherlock breathily. He grinned at his best friend, his flat mate, his partner-in-crime. “I think I love you.”

“I think I love you too.” John answered with a chuckle. “Glad that is settled.”  
“Can we continue?” Sherlock asked hesitantly as he gestured between them. John laughed at his detective but relented and pulled the man into another searing kiss.

They did not leave the flat or answer any messages for three days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	82. Apologies (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy. :)

As John entered the flat, he could not even remember the reason for their fight. All he remembered was a flash of anger and a slammed door, then he found himself walking aimlessly on the streets of London in the cold rain. 

The clock read well past midnight as he crept inside. He considered the possibility that Sherlock would be waiting for him, but the detective was not in his usual place on the sofa. 

John put the kettle on the stove and moved to check the rest of the flat. Their bed was empty of both sheets and Sherlock and John became suddenly confused. He surely would not have...

John rushed up the stairs to his old bedroom and found his boyfriend on the small frame. He was curled into a ball and was fast asleep. 

John breathed a small sigh of relief as he moved to sit on the bed. The sheets were tangled around Sherlock's legs and he clutched to him one of John's jumpers, his nose inhaling the scent. 

John stretched his body horizontally so that he could lay beside his boyfriend. 

Sherlock's eyes fluttered open as he whispered, "I thought you left." His voice was hoarse and his eyes red. 

"I did, but now I am back." John murmured as he stroked a tendril of the detective's hair. "I'm sorry. I overreacted."

"I overreacted too." Sherlock replied as his eyes met John's. "But I forgive you."

John smiled as he kissed the detective's forehead. "I love you."

Sherlock would have said, "I love you too," but the man was already asleep, finally content now that John was with him once again. 

John's light snores followed soon after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	83. Daddy (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt is courtesy of the lovely lion_62. Thank you dear. :)
> 
> Enjoy.

The words cut through John’s heart in a way that was ten times more painful than that bullet.

“You aren't even my real dad!” Mirabelle, now twelve years old, shouted at the top of her lungs. She steeled an icy glare on John, then her father, and then John again before finally turning on her heel and storming to her room to sulk.

“How could you do that? We talked about this. We decided that we would tell her when she could understand it better.” John said, the anger in his voice evident as he turned to his partner.

Sherlock lay on the sofa, his eyes closed and hands steepled under his chin. His eyelids fluttered open as he gave John a similar, icy glare. “She needed to know John. She understands what sex is and that it is used for reproduction. She knows that two men cannot have a child. I simply gave her the missing details.”

John could only stand there as he watched his partner rise and move towards their bedroom. He had lost his words. Sherlock, however, had not. He continued, “I stand by the defense that she needed to know. Goodnight, John.”

Finally, the door was shut with a bit more force than usual and John was left on the sofa to ponder his thoughts.

***

John, always the light sleeper, awoke to the rattling of drawers in the kitchen. There, he found Mira trying to boil the kettle and find something to eat. She forgot to put water in the kettle. John sighed.

“Go sit down, Mir. I’ll reheat your dinner.” Silently, she nodded, her lip quivering in the darkness. Despite the lack of light, John could tell she had been crying. He added an extra lump of sugar to her tea; she liked sweet things when she was upset. He placed her food in the microwave, and set it on the table in front of her in the sitting room. 

The child was clutching Sherlock’s faded Union Jack pillow and she ate in silence while John sipped his tea. Finally, she pushed the plate away and looked at her father. 

“I’m sorry.” They murmured. They both smiled, but John continued. 

“Mira, I understand that you are upset. We should have told you earlier, but we wanted to make sure that you would be able to understand. We wanted to avoid this kind of reactions. Your father, however, had other plans.” John whispered.

“I shouldn't have reacted like that.” Mira whispered as she picked at a loose thread on the pillow. “But I think I needed to know. The kids at school, they don’t like me. It is hard enough when your father is Sherlock Holmes, but it is even harder when they tell you that you shouldn't exist. I just wanted to know who my mother was, so that I could prove that I am somewhat normal.The idea finally clicked into place today.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand to keep the tears from obscuring her vision. 

“Oh Mir,” John sighed. He opened his arms to cradle his child. He stroked her black curls gently. “I may not be your real father, but I have raised you like my own child and I will love you unconditionally. You may not be mine genetically, but you are still my one and only daughter.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “You have school tomorrow. You should go to bed. Do you want to sleep in our room tonight?”

Mira giggled as she stood. “I’m a bit old for that, dad.” She began walking to her room. Before she disappeared onto the stairs, John thought he heard, “I love you too, daddy.” He smiled to himself before going to his own bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	84. Making Up (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A continuation from the post before last...in which John left the kettle on the stove in the middle of the night and fell asleep.
> 
> Enjoy.
> 
> I give a large thank you to MyriadProBold for catching a possible continuity error that I am now correcting. :)

A burning smell pierced John's nostrils as he was stirred from sleep. He stumbled blindly from the bed and into the kitchen. 

Everything seemed normal; the dishes in the sink and the kettle was on fire. Wait, the kettle was ON FIRE!

John scrambled to find a fire extinguisher and quickly put out the fire. He breathed a sigh of relief and made a mental note that they would need a new kettle. 

"And you say that I'm the arsonist." Sherlock quipped from the kitchen table with a grin. John was startled by his detective's sudden appearance and somehow managed to drop the extinguisher on his foot in his momentary surprise.

John let out a startled yelp and hobbled to the nearest sitting place: Sherlock’s lap. Sherlock shifted to adjust for his boyfriend and the two toppled from the chair as it slipped under their combined weight. The two hit the floor, but the impacts were only enough to hurt a bit.

Sherlock rolled onto his side so that he could face his boyfriend. He lightly took the doctor’s calloused hand and began running kisses up it. John flushed but did not remove his arm. His toe was left forgotten.

“What has gotten into you?” He murmured as Sherlock moved closer to him and began running his lips up and down the man’s exposed neck. Sherlock merely grinned and pushed John so that he was on his back. Sherlock swung a leg over his doctor to straddle him, then pulled his doctor into a deep kiss.

Sherlock was already trying to remove the buttons on John’s shirt. John swatted his hand away and sat back on his elbows, admiring his detective. Sherlock simply smiled again the slithered up John’s body, pulling him into a desperate kiss.

“I was hoping that you would.” Sherlock answered finally as he broke the kiss. John could only happily oblige.

***

The two men were still on the kitchen floor, their clothes scattered around the space. 

“So, what brought that on, Sherlock?” John murmured as he nuzzled Sherlock’s neck.

“We had a fight. Is that not what couples do? They bed each other after arguments in order to increase bonds?” Sherlock replied. He shivered from the cold contact with the tiles. He helped John to his feet and they moved to the sofa.

“I suppose you aren't wrong.” John giggled slightly at a thought. “I never thought that Sherlock Holmes and I would have make-up sex.” The two men began laughing as the cuddled close together. “I love you.” John whispered in a serious tone.

“And I you.” Sherlock murmured as the warmth of John’s embrace made his eyelids suddenly heavy. Like the previous night, they fell asleep quickly in each other’s embrace.

No more kettles were harmed, well, for that day at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	85. Approval (Mystrade)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy. :)

Mycroft Holmes had been acting strange, thought Greg Lestrade one morning.

This morning, as well as every morning that week, Greg had woken to the sight of his boyfriend leaving the room in civilian clothes and not the suits that he wore to work. The clothing change itself was strange, so of course Greg began to make assumptions. What if...no, it couldn't be true. Mycroft would never cheat, would he?

Greg, with his doubts, decided to follow his boyfriend. The next morning, just as Mycroft slipped past the bedroom door, Greg hurriedly dressed himself and proceeded to follow the man. 

Mycroft’s route first passed a flower store, where he proceeded to buy a small bundle of daffodils. Next, he popped into a jewelry store. His visit was short, so he was likely picking up a delivery.

Greg, by this time, had almost given up hope that his boyfriend was not cheating on him. Flowers and jewelry? What was a man supposed to think? Greg still persisted and followed his boyfriend as he walked the streets of London.

Mycroft finally stopped at the gates of a cemetery. Greg remembered the place, but it had been so long ago, when his parents…

The family had to try to find available plots for his parents when they had passed and only plots they had were in a small cemetery in London. Surely…

Greg continued to trail his boyfriend and watched as the man knelt beside two twin headstones. He hid behind a large tree close to the graves. He could even hear what Mycroft was saying his he listened closely. 

“I love your son.” Mycroft said to the headstones. “I know we haven’t been formally introduced, but I do not think he can broach the subject of you two without some upset. I simply want to make my intentions known by you. I, Mycroft Holmes, want to make your son happy and I want to wed him, should he say yes. Gregory is a great man and deserves so much more than I can give, but I will try my best. Thank you for everything, for making him the man that he is now. I am eternally grateful.”

Mycroft placed the flowers in front of the two and turned on his heel. He strode out of the cemetery with only a few backward glances, as if he was waiting for the ghosts to strike him down where he stood.

Greg finally stepped from his hiding place and approached his parents. “I love him.” Greg whispered. “He makes me so happy and I just wanted you to know that.” 

Greg stood there, silent. He was strangely comforted, as if his parents were really there. Deep in his heart, he knew that they would have approved of Mycroft.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	86. Silence (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry that I have not updated for a few days! I promise to fix it soon. I'll post two more chapters today to make up for what I missed. 
> 
> Alright, for my first installment, I would like to thank lion_62 for the inspiration for this prompt.
> 
> Thank you for your patience and enjoy. :)

Time slowed before John’s eyes. Like a fledgling too young, the man plummeted. John heard the sickening crunch of bones and a certain Belstaff on the pavement and then, nothing.

John did not hear, did not register the condolences, the words of his therapist, the concern of his friends. All he could hear was “I’m sorry, John” and that crunch that replayed in his head each night like a broken film projector. The silence was without respite; the flat was too quiet: no detective shooting holes in the wall and no exclamations of boredom. 

John lived in a melancholic silence; he could go days without speaking. Eventually, Greg and Mycroft forced him to leave Baker Street. They wanted to keep an eye on him. 

Too many nights were danger nights and every morning he gazed longingly at his handgun that now had a permanent place on his bedside table. Mycroft had cameras installed and guards outside the door that could stop John in a moment’s notice. 

He was miserable and both his mind and body were imprisoned by the chains of Sherlock’s remnants. 

One night, he went to the pub. He hadn’t meant to get so intoxicated, but he eventually found himself in his old flat. Their old flat. 

Mrs. Hudson let him keep the key. She left it alone. Everything remained untouched. 

John let his emotions consume him as he crumbled to the floor. He was able to pull himself to his feet and stumble into Sherlock’s unmade bed. He never made it, said it was too boring. The pillow still had the strong scent of the detective and John buried his face in it.

“Sherlock.” John whispered to himself. “You berk. Why did you do it? I was going to say it and then you… Was I not good enough? Did I not show how much I loved you?”

John fell asleep quickly, surrounded by the scent of his dead roommate. In his dreams, an angel with curly hair wrapped a blanket around him and kept him warm.

***

Sherlock hadn't expected to find John in his bed. He had only dropped by Baker Street to rest for a day before he left again. 

John was clearly suffering and Sherlock’s heart broke as he watched the man sob himself to sleep. Sherlock draped a blanket over their bodies as he held John. After the man’s breathing had calmed, Sherlock gazed at John’s sleeping face and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. 

A thought crossed his mind and he gently left the room to find a pen and a piece of paper. 

When he was finished, Sherlock placed a letter beside John’s head and kissed him once more.

“John, I love you too. I am so sorry. I promise that I'll be back.” He whispered before he left the room and continued with his mission.

John was left alone in the silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	87. Letters (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A continuation from my last post. I know I said that I would post three, but I am tired and must read Hamlet. I will post two tomorrow to catch up everything. 
> 
> Enjoy. :)

John’s head throbbed as he opened his bleary eyes. He was wrapped in a blanket and in Sherlock’s bed. 

Sherlock’s bed.

He sat up slowly, noticing a letter that was on the pillow. Two paracetamols were taped to it; he quickly swallowed them to help clear his head and opened the letter. 

***

Dear John, 

I know that you will not believe me, but I want you to read this letter to the end. I jumped from the building one year, two months, and six days ago. Moriarty forced my hand; you, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson would have died had I not.

I repeat, John, that I jumped for you. Never in my life had I met someone as interesting and brilliant as you. You were a bright light that I wanted to engulf me. I wanted to tell you before everything occurred, but I never had the chance. 

Now, I do. John Watson, I love you eternally and irrevocably. I wanted to protect you, to save you from Moriarty. I did not want my arch-enemies to dim your wondrous light. I am still trying to save you, actually.

John, I am still very much alive, and I am trying to take down Moriarty’s web. I just need time. But, I need to save you in another aspect as well. You need to get better, for me. I want the John Watson who can take down a man twice his size and still be able to save a kitten in a storm drain in the same day. 

I love you John, but I cannot watch you do this to yourself. I want to return, even though it could be months, to a John who is happy and healthy, not to a gravestone.

Please, for me.

Sherlock Holmes

P.S. I am not good with words and emotions. I apologize.

P.S.S. I left a burner mobile in one of your trouser pockets. Call the programmed number and ask for Mr. Smith.

***

 

John was confused and angry and happy as he read the letter. At the end, he found the mobile and dialed the number.

He held his breath as the silence was finally broken by a rough, but familiar, “Hello”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	88. Noise (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which John and Sherlock reunite over the phone. 
> 
> I will make everything better. I promise.
> 
> Enjoy.

“Hello, Dr. Gregory” said Sherlock’s voice over the line. He sounded tired, weary, but the voice was definitely the deep baritone of the dead detective.

“Mr. Smith,” John said as he remembered the details of the letter. His hands shook and his heart thrummed in his chest. He slowly sat on the bed. “It’s been a long time. I’ve missed you.”

There was silence for a moment, then both of them said “I love you” at the same moment. They both laughed weakly.

“We are idiots.” John said as his eyes crinkled. 

“Yes.” Sherlock murmured. “I am almost done with what I need to accomplish. Then I am yours once more. I just need to make sure that you are safe. On my end at least. So, please, take care of yourself. Getting intoxicated is a bit not good and so is your relationship with your gun. You probably know that my brother has kept cameras on you. He let me watch some of the footage. Jo- Doctor, I am so sorry for the Hell that I have caused.”

“I would walk through Hell to be with you again. I’ll take care of myself if you promise to come back in mostly one piece.”

“I can’t promise anything.” Sherlock’s voice sounded suddenly tired and remorseful. “But I can try.” He added after a moment. 

“Hey, when you return, can I kiss you?” John asked meekly as the conversation again became silent. John did not want Sherlock to leave though. He had lost him once...and that had nearly killed them both.

“Only if I can kiss you.” Sherlock replied. “Look, they need me. I have to go. This is the last time you’ll hear from me for a while. I’m sorry, but it is necessary. I love you so much. Bye.”

“I love you too-” But the called ended before John could say the words.

John dropped the phone as he replayed the conversation in his mind. He wasn't sure, but he thought he had heard the tell-tale sound of machine gun fire in the background as Sherlock quickly left. The clock on his watch ticked, a deafening noise in the silence. 

John, for the first time since the war, prayed to any and all gods who would listen. 

Bring him home safely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	89. Love in the Firefight (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Happy Ending! I told you that I would fix it!
> 
> Thank you again to the lovely lion_62 for the prompts. 
> 
> Enjoy.

For six months, John waited, yet no word came. He still followed Sherlock’s orders. He stopped drinking and kept his gun locked in his bedside drawer. He moved back into Baker Street and slept in Sherlock’s bed. Mycroft began giving him assignments to help him treat wounded field operatives. 

Over time, John felt less broken, only left with a Sherlock-sized hole in his heart.

One day, as John drank his tea and read the paper, the elder Holmes brother strode into the room and gently tapped his umbrella on the kitchen tile. John gave him a questioning look, but Mycroft simply placed an envelope in front of him detailing the mission and what wounds he would need to be prepared to treat.

“This mission is highly confidential. I trust that you can keep your mouth closed on it?” He asked as he passed John a confidentiality agreement. Mycroft already knew that he could; he just needed to have the proper paperwork.

John signed the papers and finished his breakfast. He hurriedly put on his clothes and followed Mycroft to the waiting black car. His gun was tucked into his waistband.

***

When they arrived, they had missed the firefight, but some of the agents were injured. John treated minor wounds quickly and efficiently, eyes scanning for threats. He did not even acknowledge those who he treated.

He was setting someones broken hand when the gunfire rained down upon them once more. That was when he noticed the man. A man seemed to be unaware of the gunfire and he was standing right in the middle of it.

John removed his gun from his waistband and moved to cover the man. The man seemed to come to his senses as John touched his arm and they both ducked for cover.

Just then, a grenade exploded and John just managed to shield the man with his own body.He cocked his gun and aimed for their assailants, managing to pick off two of them and send the rest into a retreat. Mycroft led the forces to advance, but left some of the aids to care for John and the man.

Finally, John noticed the man beneath him. 

Bright, colorless eyes stared at him, the man’s mouth in a slight smile. Time seemed to slow as John jerked the man up by his collar and brought their faces together. Sherlock moaned eagerly and returned the kiss.

“You said you would try to keep yourself safe.” Sherlock smiled.

“You said that you would come back in one piece.” John retorted. “Mind Palace? In a firefight? You are insane.”

“But you love me.” Sherlock grinned. “Those men that you shot were the final pieces in the web. Mycroft is chasing the accomplices. I can finally return.”

The two men smiled at each other as they scrambled to their feet, their fingers intertwining. Mycroft soon returned with the captured accomplices and, after several hours of paperwork and a severe scolding about safety, the two men returned to Baker Street.

***

John and Sherlock stood on the stoop of 221 Baker Street. John placed the keys into the lock and pulled Sherlock into another fierce, but eagerly returned kiss. 

“Welcome Home, Sherlock.” He opened the door and they stepped inside, hands, lips, souls, and bodies finally finding each other after all of those years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	90. Suspicions (Hangelo)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the request of Lion_62: Mrs. Hudson and Angelo, as told by the perspective of the boys. 
> 
> Enjoy. :)

Sherlock was suspicious. He was rarely suspicious, but now… he needed to investigate. 

He was the world’s first and only consulting detective. How hard would it be to find the lover of his landlady?

Mrs. Hudson had been going on dates for weeks, every other day, with the same person. He preferred a particular perfume and she seemed to be in a better mood. Sherlock, being protective over his landlady, needed to find this romantic interest and warn them that, if she were injured in any way, that person would have a fate far worse than that of Mr. Hudson. 

So, when Mrs. Hudson said that she was going out, Sherlock quickly donned his Belstaff and scarf and followed her. Her date was at Angelo’s apparently. Sherlock did not want to risk being noticed, so he ordered tea at a late night café across the street and he waited.

But Mrs.Hudson did not leave the restaurant. Even after the restaurant closed, she had still not appeared. Sherlock had thought that she had snuck past him, but he was proved wrong when she finally appeared in the doorway.

She had her arm looped through the strong arm of Angelo himself. 

Sherlock quickly placed a few bills on the table and phoned John.

***

John had been sleeping when he received Sherlock’s call to wait for Mrs. Hudson to return. Diligently and half-asleep, he waited for the tell-tale sign of a lock in the door. The door opened and John was graced with the image of Mrs. Hudson and Angelo pressing themselves against each other in a heated kiss. 

Angelo giggled and Mrs. Hudson said, “Shhh. You are going to wake the boys. Keep quiet. Now, let’s go try out my new hip.”

John had trouble sleeping that night. 

***

John and Sherlock both had bags under their eyes as they drank their morning tea. “So…”

“Mrs. Hudson is having relations with Angelo. Yes.” Sherlock murmured.

“And I caught them right before they were going to…”

“Yes, John.” Sherlock sighed. “Let us never speak of this again.”  
“I’m happy for them. They have both had tough lives and they are both amazing. I hope they invite us to the wedding.” John murmured.

The door suddenly opened and Mrs. Hudson entered with a tray of biscuits. “Good morning boys. Who is getting married?”

“You wouldn't know them.” John sighed as he took a biscuit and nibbled at it. “Thank you.”

Mrs. Hudson smiled and left, but not before Sherlock noticed the love bites on her neck and the strange difference in her gait. He gulped at his tea and tried to delete the images from his mind palace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	91. Poissons d'Avril (Johnlock) (Mystrade)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, in honor of April Fools Day, I give you an actual French tradition. Seriously, google it. It is a real thing. (And it is one of the reasons why I love the French culture.)
> 
> Enjoy.

John Watson, on several occasions that involved him returning to the flat, had grown familiar with the image of Mycroft Holmes and Sherlock glaring at each other whilst Greg mediated. 

This, however… this was new.

John had braced himself for the worst when he saw the police vehicle on the street beside the flat, when he heard the eerie silence that could only be created by the two brothers. He was not, however, expecting to find the Holmes brothers, on the sofa, covered in paper fish.

He paused in the doorway, his eyes helplessly meeting those of Greg, who sat between the two men. A purple paper fish was stuck to his forehead; he was clearly a casualty in whatever fight this was.

“So, care to explain?” John asked as he removed his coat and stood in front of the three men. The Holmes brothers grunted and gave John the cold shoulder.

“As you may know, today is the first of April.” Greg began. “Being raised by a French family, one also celebrates a French holiday known as ‘les poissons d’avril’. Literally, it means the fish of April. It is the equivalent to April Fools day and, instead of pranks, one places paper fish in peculiar places and tries to put them on people. That is the joke. As you can see…” He gestured at the two brothers and then at the own fish on his forehead. “They got a bit carried away. Sherlock may have plastered fish all over Mycroft’s bedroom-”

“Our bedroom, Gregory.” Mycroft interjected with a snap.

“Fine. Fish were made to cover our bedroom, and Mycroft felt that his brother needed to be punished.”

“So-” John gave a confused look and glanced quickly around the flat to ensure that they had no fish-themed wallpaper.

“So, Mycroft may or may not have filled your bath with fish and algae.” Greg sighed. “I tried to stop them, but then they started throwing paper fish at each other and…”

John stepped away from the men so that he could collect himself. “So,” he said finally. “Fish in the bath? Wonderful. Molly will take them, right?”

“They are not goldfish.” Sherlock and Mycroft murmured at the same time. “They are catfish. Large ones too.”

John let out an angry sigh and grabbed his jacket. 

“I am going to get take away so we can sit and talk about this...feud. The catfish had better be safely relocated by the time that I return. At least one of you should have enough resources to find an aquarium or something.” And with that, John left the flat once more.

Fish? Really? Well, with the Holmes, there was always something.

It was a good thing that he loved Sherlock Holmes, he thought. Only a lovesick fool would stay even when things were...fishy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	92. Too Much Information (Johnlock) (Hangelo)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mrs. Hudson tries to explain some... things to the boys.
> 
> Thank you to lion_62 for the prompt.
> 
> Enjoy.

John and Sherlock were arguing over...well, things that often occurred in the bedroom.

“I cannot believe you did that, Sherlock.” John said as he sat at the table and sipped at his tea. He leafed through the paper.

“Well, someone was at a conference, so what was I supposed to do? Especially when you leave your mobile. You were practically asking for it.” Sherlock called from his place on the sofa.

“Mobiles are not meant to be attached to that part of the human body, Sherlock. They are meant to make calls, send messages, and do random internet searches that allow you to solve a crime in two minutes.” John snipped. He put down the paper, only to notice that Mrs. Hudson was standing in the doorway.

“You aren't having a domestic, are you, boys?” Mrs. Hudson smiled as John moved to pour her a cup of tea. They moved into the living area. “It sounds like it’s performance issues. Are you two having trouble in...you know, the bedroom?”

John and Sherlock blushed deep red at her knowing smile as they stammered and tried to produce coherent sentences.

“It’s alright boys. I can give you a few pointers. Now, when you are with a man-” She set down her saucer and stepped towards the kitchen, as if to look for something.

Sherlock covered his ears and buried his head in the couch, as if he were an ostrich. “Stop it, Mrs. Hudson. Please. I am a grown man. Spare us the details.” His voice was muffled, but his words still reached Mrs. Hudson’s ears.

She gave John a curious look. “What is he going on about?”

“Mrs. Hudson, we know.” John said shyly, his blush intensifying as he suddenly became very interested in the wooden floorboards. He tried to sip his tea to give himself something to do.

“Well, of course you know. You two have been shagging for months. I just wanted to give you a few pointers. You should know how to-” 

John’s tea came spewing out of his mouth in a fine spray as he began to choke on it. A momentary “Shut up, Mrs. Hudson” was heard from the ostrich in the sofa cushions. Then silence established itself in the flat, Mrs. Hudson having a confused expression the entire time.

“Mrs. Hudson,” John said as he finally recovered. “We know about you and Angelo. We approve, but we want to hear about your bedroom manner as much as you want to hear about ours. Now, Sherlock and I are fine. We are perfectly fine with regards to the bedroom. We just had a little domestic but now it is fixed and none of us will ever have to speak about sex in the presence of the other again, right?”

Mrs. Hudson laughed heartily and swatted at John, “You boys need to stop snooping in my business. Alright, I’ll leave you two alone. But, if you ever need pointers…”

“You will be the first we ask.” John said as he walked Mrs. Hudson to the door. She then left, John breathing a sigh of relief as he locked the door. Now, he needed to deal with his detective-turned-ostrich, who was still trying to hide in the sofa.

***

That night, Angelo laughed and kissed Martha Louise Hudson on the nose. He pulled her closer to his body and they relished in the skin-to-skin contact. 

“Those boys, I swear.” She murmured as she pulled the man into a deep kiss. “Want to try for a second round? Maybe if they hear us, they will learn a lesson. I can hear them all the time. Maybe they need a taste of their own medicine.”

Angelo could only agree and kiss her in return.

***

Meanwhile, in 221B, Sherlock and John lay awake in their bed, staring at the ceiling as they heard the...noises beneath them. 

“We never should have told her.” John sighed.

“But I could not tolerate the mental image of her explaining things that she has done with a good friend of mine. You had to do something.” Sherlock retorted.

“Well, now you actually can hear it, so how did that plan work?”

“Shut up.”

No one in 221 Baker Street slept that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	93. A Nice Catch (Anthooper)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for not posting yesterday. I was extremely sick and could barely stay awake, much less write. I still feel terrible, but I had this idea and I am feeling a bit better. I'll post another tonight to make up for what I missed. Thank you for understanding. 
> 
> Now, an alternate meeting for Anthea and Molly. 
> 
> Enjoy.

Molly Hooper was never the one to buy new shoes or new clothes. 

Someone, a certain over-enthusiastic detective who had created a new compound that was highly acidic, had destroyed her favorite and only comfortable pair of shoes.

Begrudgingly, she had bought a cheap pair of canvas shoes that could be cleaned efficiently and had enough sole to prevent pain in her knees, back, and feet after hours of running around the lab. 

There was only one problem: they had no traction whatsoever. 

Molly found that, when the halls were empty, she could pretend to ice skate on the linoleum, only to crash to the ground when she could not stop. She tried to tread carefully as she carried out her daily tasks, but she still found herself having close calls while carrying a particularly gruesome murder victim’s head. She then proceeded to take them off and simply do her work with her socks.

She, once again, needed new shoes, but the shops were closed and she was busy. She glanced at the clock, noting that it was past midnight…

And nearly fell from her chair when she saw Mycroft’s assistant standing in the doorway, staring at her. 

“Hi,” Molly stammered as the woman entered the room. “The files for Mr. Holmes. Let me finish this and I will get those to you.” 

The assistant - what was her name? Molly couldn't remember. - smiled and turned her attention to her mobile. “Will you be needing a ride home, Miss Hooper? Most cabs have stopped running and your building is on my way home.” She asked after an uncomfortable silence had established itself. Molly felt herself blush at the way the assistant looked at her. The assistant was beautiful and Molly was...Molly. But, the assistant looked at Molly is an almost predatory manner. 

“Call me Molly.” She said, her voice higher than usual. She thought of her shoes and how she would probably injure herself on the way home. The London weather had left sheets of ice on the ground. She was clumsy and the shoes, they would merely increase her chances of getting hurt. 

“If you could, that would be amazing.” Molly replied as she finished her report and found the file, She gave it to the assistant, gathered her things, and reluctantly placed the shoes on her feet. 

“Thank you, Molly.” The assistant replied with a smile. “I am Anthea, by the way. Mr. Holmes will likely have me working with you and the rest of the staff for the next few months on some government cases.”

With her stomach fluttering, Molly returned the smile as they left the lab. Molly shuffled her feet and Anthea placed a hand on the small of her back, to help steady her, and Molly felt her blush intensify. 

What was she getting herself into?

They spoke quietly on the ride to Molly’s flat and those brown eyes held Molly’s heart the entire way. She had barely spoken the woman, but she was mesmerizing. She had an air of seriousness, but she silence that sometimes occurred was comfortable and...relaxing.

When they arrived at Molly’s flat, Anthea stood on the sidewalk and offered to walk her to her flat. Molly agreed, not wanting the woman to leave.

As they mounted the three flights of stairs on the outside of the building, Molly’s shoe slipped and she stumbled back, nearly falling down the stairs had it not been for the quick, strong arms that wrapping around her waist and steadied her.

Anthea swung Molly’s legs up and carried her up the rest of the stairs as if she were a child. She set her in front of the door to her flat. Molly’s face reddened from both the embarrassment and the warm touch of the woman. 

“Thank you… for saving me and for the ride.” She murmured as she looked at her feet and tried to open the door with her keys. She opened the door and finally brought her gaze to meet Anthea’s.

Anthea stepped forward and kissed her quickly on the lips, smiling as she stepped backwards. “No, thank you, Miss H- Molly. I look forward to working with you. I will text you my mobile number, should you need anything. Even if you simply want to chat, as they say.”

And with that, Anthea disappeared down the stairs. Molly stepped into the flat, closed the door, and tried to control her racing heart. She placed her fingers to her lips, smiling softly to herself. She was looking forward to working with Anthea as well.

She also made the decision to wear those shoes more often. What was a problem with traction when one had an attractive woman waiting to catch said person when that person slipped “accidentally”?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	94. The Cuddle Monster (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, another post. 
> 
> Enjoy.

Sherlock Holmes was a cuddle monster. Especially when he became tired.

As soon as the detective’s body would register its fatigue, the man would grab onto anything and instantly be fast asleep, no matter the place or time. 

John noticed it very little at first, but he had noticed that it occurred quite often as their relationship as flatmates had continued.

First, John had found him on the sofa, his arms wrapped protectively around his violin and his knees tucked into his chest. He had put the violin in its case and had draped a blanket over the detective.

Then, it was his microscope at the kitchen table. He was actually under the table, but the microscope was in his arms nonetheless. John placed a pillow under the detective’s head and rescued the microscope from further threat. He may or may have not spent a few minutes simply admiring his peaceful flatmate. But, no one would ever know, right?

Finally, John himself became the object of Sherlock’s affections. They had been returning from a case and Sherlock, having only slept for three hours from two days earlier, had wrapped his arms around John’s arm and was instantly asleep. His head rested on John’s shoulder, but fell to John’s chest when the cab hit a bump.

Still the detective slept. 

Cautiously, John stroked the detective’s curls, receiving a tired but content sigh for his efforts. Upon arriving, John paid the driver and lifted Sherlock into his arms. With the loss of John’s arm from his grasp, Sherlock wrapped his arms around John’s neck and tightly clung to the man.

Had the man not been so heavy, John would have reveled in the moment. Sherlock was gorgeous and adorable, but having to carry him up the stairs...that was another story.

After some difficulty, John was able to make it to the sofa, where he collapsed with his arms full of the detective. Still asleep, Sherlock wrapped his arms again around John’s and rested his head on the man’s shoulder. His legs were situated across John’s and the doctor was effectively trapped.

“Sherlock, you cannot use me as a pillow.” John scolded half-heartedly as he carded his fingers through the detective’s hair and rubbed his back soothingly. “I’ll allow it this time, but only because I love you.” He smiled to himself and rested his chin on Sherlock’s head, closing his own eyes.

Just before he too drifted off to sleep, John thought he heard a sleepy baritone voice murmur, “I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	95. Twists (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not know what happened: I was aiming for a fluffy chapter that was inspired by lion_62 and it became... this.
> 
> Enjoy.
> 
> Lion_62, I will definitely post your fluffy suggestion tomorrow. Right now, however, here is some University AU angst.

His new routine was sure to be a hit at the competition in a few months and he was showing the primary drafts to his instructor. 

Sherlock felt the familiar ache in his joints as he leaped and bounded across the room. He was used to the stretch of his muscles as he lifted Molly and seemed to float on air in his routine.

Finally, Sherlock took a deep breath as he prepared himself for a triple tour into an an arabesque. He prepped and soon he was in the air.

And then he was on the floor, a sharp pain radiating through his ankle. Molly immediately went to call John whilst his instructor helped him to a chair to elevate the ankle. 

How could he have been so careless? He was going to school for ballet. Dance was his passion, well, aside from his boyfriend, but his ballet career looked as if it might end before it could even start. 

He punched the wall out of frustration, his knuckles were going to be bruised. He closed his eyes and retreated into his mind before he could hurt himself further. He just needed to wait for John. John would make things better.

***

“It is only sprained, thankfully. Stay off of it for a few days, but it would heal perfectly.” John murmured as he wrapped a makeshift splint around Sherlock’s ankle. “I have supplies back at the flat. C’mon, let’s get you home.” 

The aspiring doctor draped the man's arms around his back and placed his legs around his waist, lifting him, and carried him, piggy-back style, to a car that was waiting outside. Greg sat in the front seat, grinning at the two. “I hear you two lovebirds need a ride home…”

Sherlock stuck his tongue out at Greg and settled into the crook of John’s shoulder, breathing in his scent. He had been called from rugby practice: he smelled like sweat and grass. A bit of blood too; his lip was bleeding.

“Who hit you?” Sherlock asked quietly in John’s ear. 

“Coach did not like that I was leaving to go help you. He sent his son after me. I’ve actually been thinking of quitting anyway. I want to focus on my studies here, not rugby. I want to help people, not add to the injuries.” John kept his voice low so that Greg would not hear.

“How are you going to cover the costs? I know that some teams were scouting you and that you were counting on that to pay tuition…”

Sherlock was quieted by John softly pressing a kiss to his lips. “I’ll find a way, Lockie. I can join the army and you can continue with your ballet. I don’t want to need to rely on you forever, like I am now; I want to be able to support you in the future; I want you to do what you love. If you are happy, then I am happy.”

Sherlock quieted for the rest of the ride, contemplating some sort of response to the fact that John might be joining the military. Dance was one thing; John, however, was irreplaceable and he would gladly give up dance if it meant that John could stay by his side forever.

***

They made it into their one-bedroom flat that Sherlock’s brother had bought for them as a two-year anniversary gift. It was small, but it was home. John sat Sherlock on their bed and rewrapped his ankle, placing a pack of ice around it to help reduce the swelling. He then gave his patient two paracetamols and started to make dinner. 

They ate dinner on their bed and Sherlock held John close to him.

He did not want to lose him: not now, not ever.


	96. An Impatient Patient (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fluffy continuation from my last post. 
> 
> Thank you to lion_62 for the inspiration.
> 
> Enjoy.

Sherlock was a difficult patient.

An extremely difficult and incapacitated patient.

He refused to allow John to place ice on his sprained ankle and he could only shout bored at the ceiling as John tried to do his homework beside him. Every once in a while, the man would quiet and then suddenly shout an answer that John had gotten wrong.

“Sherlock, I need to get this done.” John murmured at some point as he took changed out the bag of ice that Sherlock kept removing from his ankle. He wrapped it in a towel and wrapped tape around the man’s foot.

Sherlock huffed and let his head fall back on the headboard. 

“Why don’t you rest or something?” John suggested as he climbed back into the bed beside the man.

“I am not tired, John.” Sherlock said. He let his head fall to John’s shoulder as he left out a dramatic sigh. “I am bored and you are not paying attention to me. It will take you approximately two more hours to finish your work, but I am impatient and want...forget it. Do you assignments.”

Sherlock tried to turn onto his side, but was halted by his leg. He sighed and closed his eyes, only to open them when he heard John’s books his the floor.

“You know, you are adorable when you are sulking.” John grinned as he swung a leg over his boyfriend. He pulled Sherlock into a fiery kiss as Sherlock tried to adjust himself into an upright position.

“I know.” Sherlock breathed as his hands ran a trail up and down John’s back. “And you are rather attractive when you are playing my doctor. I could positively consume you.” A glint in the man’s eye made John smile and catch his lips in another kiss.

“Well, I guess it is a good thing that I am your boyfriend and your physician; or are you going to leave me for the next good-looking doctor that comes into your life.”

“ John, you are my only doctor. Forever and always.” Sherlock said seriously. He then smiled. “Anyone else would bring me back to you after a few hours. Now, I mentioned something about consuming you, I think.” He pulled John closer to him and rolled on top of him.

The shift took the breath from John’s lungs. Sherlock divesting his shirt did not help much either to steady his breathing. John pulled the man into another kiss and any problems were momentarily forgotten.

***

John’s mobile chimed as he pressed his face into the bare shoulder of the sleeping dancer.

“Hello?”

“Let me guess; you missed class and practice so you could stay with your boyfriend.” Greg laughed over the phone. “I have notes from the lecture you missed. How is our dancer feeling?”

“He’s sleeping. I've been taking care of him and he’s been complaining. I just got him to sleep.”

“Sure, ‘taking care of him’. Just make sure you have clothes on your body when I show up. I’ll be there in ten minutes.” John smiled at Greg’s jokes and ended the call. He pressed a row of kisses up his boyfriend’s spine and then went to get dressed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	97. Another Mummy Meeting (Johnlock) (Mystrade) (Anthooper)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For myriadprobold. Here is a bit with Mummy and the goldfish. 
> 
> Enjoy. :)

Mummy Holmes had called another meeting and none of them knew what to expect. 

They were certainly not expecting...that.

***

Sherlock fidgeted in Mycroft’s car as he tried not to make eye contact with his brother and Lestrade. Judging by their slightly disheveled appearances, and by their slight smirks when they glanced at him, they had certainly done...something.

“They had intercourse right where we are sitting.” Sherlock whispered in a voice that only John could hear. 

“We have had intercourse right where you are sitting.” John reminded him. “Just don’t think about it, okay? Think about what I am going to do to you if we manage to get through this.” Sherlock immediately stopped his movements at the purr and turned his attention to his mobile. John sighed and rested his head on the seat, hoping to get some rest before they arrived.

His rest was not meant to be, for Anthea took Molly’s mobile and aimed it for Sherlock’s head. Sherlock, however, ducked and the mobile made a sickening crack on John’s head.

“Control your boyfriend, Dr. Watson.” Anthea murmured as she glared at Sherlock. 

“You two stop bickering. Sherlock, don’t send images of dissected hearts to your sister, and me, for that matter. Anthea, don’t throw things at people, especially not the property of other people at the bodies of others.” Greg sighed and gave an apologetic look to Molly and John.

“We are almost there, so just be patient and try not to kill each other.” Mycroft sighed. There were two simultaneous huffs and the car became silent.

***

They were all escorted into the sitting room, where Mummy Holmes waited patiently for them. 

She proceeded to kiss her children on the forehead and embrace the goldfish. She then urged them all to sit as she dispensed tea. The Holmes siblings shared a collective look of curiosity while the goldfish maintained looks of confusion.

“So, I called you all here to discuss something very important: I am getting married again.”

Mycroft, Sherlock, and Anthea choked on their tea and their looks became defensive. “But, father-”

“Wanted me to be happy. And I wanted you to meet my partner, so that there is no resentment from you three.” Mummy Holmes then stood and gestured to a doorway, from which a woman, slightly older than middle-aged, entered. She had a shock of red hair and a warm smile. 

“This is the woman whom I love. This is Suzanne.” Mummy Holmes declared. John, Greg, and Molly merely looked at the woman in amazement. 

“Miss Walker?” The goldfish said collectively.

Surprise crossed the face of the woman, Suzanne. “Molly, Gregory, and Hamish?”

“It’s John now, Miss Walker. It is nice to see you again.” John corrected as he stood to hug her, Molly and Greg following suit.

Mummy Holmes cleared her throat. “Miss Walker is a language teacher at one of London’s secondary schools. I met with her to discuss some contributions to the school programs and we - how do you say it?- hit it off.” She smiled and waited for the responses from her shocked children. Finally, they recovered and deduced what they could about the woman.

The siblings all looked at each other and Mycroft cleared his throat. He locked with the two women who were the center of attention. “Mummy, as the oldest sibling and on the behalf of the others, we would like to inform you that we give your our blessing. Miss Walker, welcome to the family.”

The women breathed a sigh of relief. "Now, let's celebrate." Mummy said with a renewed energy in her voice. 

After several glasses of wine, Sherlock and John lounged lazily on a sofa, watching the others try to play Cluedo. Mummy and Suzanne's smiles were bright and happy. 

"So," Sherlock murmured as he nuzzled John's neck. "Hamish?"

"I wanted to have a unique name, okay? Then I got teased for it, so now it's John." John said defensively as he kissed Sherlock's nose. "Now, don't you happen to have a childhood bedroom around here?"

Sherlock only smiled and pulled John quietly from the sofa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	98. Guarded (Mystrade)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of damaged Mycroft. I'm sorry.
> 
> Trigger Warning: Alcohol, implied eating disorder, some blood and broken glass that may constitute self-inflicted wounds.
> 
> Enjoy?
> 
> Also, which types of works do you like better? (i.e. fluff, angst, etc.) I'm just curious.

Mycroft slumped into his chair and pulled the stopper from the decanter, slowly pouring himself a small glass of scotch.

He sipped it, frowned at the taste, and downed the rest in one gulp. It had been one of those days.

Meetings that he had been involved with for months just...failed. The other countries pulled from the talks one after another and his project was quickly dying. 

Then Sherlock had stormed into his office, complaining about something. God, he couldn't remember. He did, however, remember his brother’s quip about him eating too many sweets and it had ruined Mycroft’s day. Failed talks are one thing, but being commented negatively on an insecurity…

He poured himself another glass and did not have time to taste it. He wanted the buzz of the alcohol and to be thinner and he just needed...someone. Someone who appreciated him and cared for him. He needed Gregory…

But a text from Gregory told Mycroft that their bed would be empty that night. Was it so much to ask that no one got murdered or did anything criminally stupid enough to require the Detective Inspector?

The glass shattered across the room, Mycroft having thrown it at the wall in his frustration. He moved to stand, so he could clean it, but the alcohol was already invading his mind, making his thoughts clouded and his emotions loose. He stumbled and fell to the ground, feeling a slight stinging in his palms. But, he did not care.

He curled into a ball on the floor and sobbed into the carpet. 

***

Greg was able to solve the murder, and finish the paperwork on it, just before dawn. He walked into the entrance, placing his shoes beside Mycroft’s and hanging his coat next to the man’s umbrella. He checked the living area and the bedroom, but found his boyfriend to be missing. Finally, he checked the study, hoping to find Mycroft asleep at his desk.

Instead, he found him on the floor, bleeding. 

Greg rushed to Mycroft’s side, noticing how shards of glass had somehow been embedded in Mycroft’s hands and forearms. He carefully lifted the man into his arms and carried him to the bathroom. He propped him against their bathtub and started cleaning the wounds.

“Gregory,” Mycroft whimpered as Greg started removing the glass.

“Shh...What happened, my love?” Greg soothed Mycroft by gently stroking the man’s cheek. Mycroft closed his eyes and leaned into his touch.

“Today was a bad day and you weren't there.” Mycroft slurred as he rested his head on the cool tub’s exterior. The alcohol made his head spin; he had always been a lightweight.

“I’m here now, my love. Now, let’s try to make you feel better. Have you eaten anything? You sound...”

“Not hungry.” Mycroft muttered, his eyes still closed. “I’m fat and now I’m turning to alcohol to solve my problems. God, can I do nothing right? You should leave me now and save yourself the time.”

“Myc…” Greg wrapped Mycroft’s hands and arms and lifted him again, this time carrying the man to the bed. “We are going to talk about this tomorrow, when you are sober and rested. But, I do love you. I have loved you ever since I met you and will love you for the rest of my life. I do not care about your weight or your alcohol intake. What I do care about is you, you and your brilliant mind and your personality.”

Greg began undressing the nearly-unconscious politician and scattered reverent kisses across his skin as each piece of skin was revealed. Finally, he crawled into the bed beside the politician and simply held the man as he softly sobbed himself to sleep.

Greg stayed awake the entire time, watching his boyfriend sleep and silently standing guard against the unseen forces of the nightmares and thoughts that plagued his lover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	99. Sympathy and Tenderness (Mystrade)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A continuation from yesterday at the request of you all. Thank you. :)
> 
> Enjoy.

Mycroft’s head throbbed as the sun streamed through the bedroom window. 

Panic set in as he saw the clock, saw how late he was to the office. Heart beginning to race, he tried to scrambled out of the bed, only to have his shoulders gently grabbed. He was pushed lightly back onto the bed, Greg’s arms forming a cage around him.

“I called Anthea; if anyone asks, the both of us have the flu.” Greg chuckled as he kissed Mycroft’s forehead. Mycroft took a few moments to calm his breathing as the adrenaline still coursed through his veins. When his breathing had slowed, he finally met Gregory’s eyes. 

“Now,” Greg gently took Mycroft’s wrist, running his fingers over the bandages. Greg held Mycroft’s gaze as the man tried to shy away from the attention. “We need to talk about this.” Greg’s voice was calm but demanding, soothing but struck fear into Mycroft’s heart.

What if Gregory did not want him because he was...not right, mentally, physically, or emotionally? His breathing hitched as he dropped his gaze from that of the Inspector.

“Hey, look at me.” Greg placed a hand on Mycroft’s cheek and tilted his head upwards to look him in the eye. “I’m not leaving. I love you, Myc, and you are in pain, in anguish. Please, let me help you.”

Mycroft let out a shaky breath and whispered, “Okay.”

***

Greg held Mycroft and gently comforted him as he recounted all of his fears. Of becoming an alcoholic like his grandfather, of weighing too much, of losing Greg because he was old and fat; how could he maintain his attention?

“There,” Mycroft said as he finished. “You can pack your bags and leave now.”

“I’m not leaving, Myc.” Gregory tightened his arms around the man and kissed him gently on the forehead. “I’m not the best qualified to deal with some of these situations, however. I know you might be opposed, but how does therapy sound? I can be with you every step of the way and you can stop at any time.You are everything to me, Mycroft. My reason and my foundation. If something is bothering you, I will make damn sure that it is stopped as soon as possible. Please, my love, say that you will try. Please.” 

A single tear had sprung from Greg’s eyes. Mycroft gently brought a hand to his cheek and wiped the tear away with his thumb,

Mycroft silently nodded and buried himself in Greg’s chest. Greg simple held him and ran his hands over the man’s body, up his spine, down his sides, through his hair. Each touch was gentle...and loving and tender.

Greg thought he heard the man whisper “I love you too” just before they both drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	100. Infected (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to lion_62 for the prompt idea. John is a bit under the weather and Sherlock tries to take care of him.
> 
> Enjoy.

John's body ached as he tried to move to block the light that entered his eyes. He could not breathe through his nose and his throat burned. He groaned as his head began aching.

He was sick. Cold and flu season had been coming at the clinic at full blast and, unfortunately, he was now a casualty. He stumbled from his bed and into the bathroom, trying to find some sort of cold medicine. Instead, he tripped and hit the ground with a thud, groaning and not moving, as he did not have the strength to stand.

“John?” Sherlock called, having been awoken by the noises. He quickly rushed to John’s side and helped him to his feet. The man swayed a bit, but was able to return to his bed with Sherlock’s help.

“You are ill.” Sherlock concluded as he tucked John under the blankets and placed a cool hand on the man’s forehead. His temperature was slightly elevated.

“No shit, Sherlock.” John grinned before he went into a fit of coughing and sneezing.

“You seem to have a cold.” Sherlock said. He sat perched on the end of the bed and looked a bit lost. “What do I do? What do you usually…” Suddenly, the genius was hit with an idea and he rushed from the room.

He returned a few minutes later with a mug of tea, with honey, and several cold medicines. Well, more than several. He had basically pulled any medicine he could find and brought it to John.

“Thank you.” John said as he selected the medicines he needed and set them aside. Sherlock quickly returned the unused ones to their original places and again took a spot at the foot of John’s bed.

Until, once again, he was struck with an idea.

***

John had managed to drift off to sleep, the medicine finally working, when the detective entered the room again. In his hands was a bowl of what appeared to be soup.

“Chicken soup? At nine in the morning?” John asked with a mild chuckle as he took it from the detective.

“You usually make it for me when I am sick. The time of day is irrelevant.” Sherlock looked at his feet and stood in front of John’s bed. A slight blush was on his cheeks and he was trying his hardest.

“Thank you, Sherlock. It’s lovely. You are an excellent doctor.” John smiled as he tried the soup. It was terrible, but he still ate it; he did not want to see the detective upset. He set the bowl next to his mug of cold tea. 

“I’m going to go to sleep for a bit, yeah?” John shivered a bit and pulled the blanket over him. He was a bit cold. 

Sherlock nodded slowly and then climbed into the bed beside him, wrapping his arms around the sick doctor and encircling him.

“Sherlock, you are going to get sick…” Sherlock sighed and pressed a quick kiss to the doctor’s lips.

“I have likely already been exposed. Besides, you are cold. My body heat can warm you. You take care of me so often, so I am returning the favor.” There was no arguing with the detective, so John relaxed and fell asleep once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	101. Strange (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of angst.
> 
> I shall fix it tomorrow, but I do enjoy making you wait. 
> 
> Enjoy. :)

Sherlock felt...strange.

It was not a good strange though; it made his chest ache and his throat feel like it was closing. He felt like he wanted to cry or hit a wall, or hit a wall and then break down sobbing.

But he stayed silent, on the sofa, as he listened to John vent about his frustrations regarding a woman.

“Do you have any advice, Sherlock?” John asked, pulling Sherlock from his thoughts. “I know you don’t have much experience, but I really like Emily. I think that I am going to try, but what do you think? I have a date with her in an hour or so, but should I try to move it past work colleagues.”

Sherlock took a deep breath and examined his flatmate. His pupils were dilated at just the thought of her and he was gushing. Sherlock slowly let it out and closed his eyes as he spoke, “Tell her how you feel. Do it before you regret it. You don’t want her to be the one who could have been, who never was. Do what will make you happy.”

‘Way to speak for yourself,’ said Sherlock’s inner-self. ‘You are in love with your flat mate, but you will never tell him. You always put the happiness of others first, leaving nothing for yourself. Have you no self preservation?’

“I suppose not.” Sherlock said aloud.

“Hmm?” John asked as he straightened his collar and picked up his mobile, preparing to call this...woman so he could take her on a date. Why couldn't Sherlock be her?

“Nothing, talking to myself again. Do not stay out too late.” Sherlock mumbled as he assumed his pose on the sofa. 

John hummed in response and it took all of Sherlock’s will not to cry before the door closed. As soon as the door shut, he began clawing at the sofa, hitting it with his fists and finally curling up on it as the sobs escaped his throat. 

Yes, Sherlock was feeling strange. And he did not like it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	102. Relief (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A continuation from yesterday's post. 
> 
> Enjoy. :)

Sherlock did not remember falling asleep on the sofa. 

He was sobbing to himself one moment, as his chest felt like it was breaking, splitting into two. The next, he was being carried softly to his room, his mind foggy and his eyes were unfocused and too heavy for him to care. The person was warm and smelled like...home, like tea and biscuits and news print and slightly clinical.

“John?” Sherlock murmured as he rested his chest on the man’s shoulder. 

The man hummed in acknowledgement as he placed the man on the bed and placed the blankets over him. John gently squeezed his hand and tried to pull it from the detective’s grip. “Get some sleep, yeah?”

Sherlock suddenly felt a desperate urgency overcome him. His former panic was reawakening with his mind. “No, please don’t leave me. Don’t leave me alone.” The words gushed from his mouth without a second thought and he instinctively clutched tighter at John’s hand.

“I won’t leave you alone. I’ll just be in my roo-”

“Please.” Sherlock’s eyes were pleading and bloodshot and tear-stained. John sighed and relented, climbing into the bed beside his roommate. Sherlock immediately curled up to his chest and John wrapped his arms around the man.

“Why is this happening?” Sherlock whispered, mostly to himself. “I want you to be happy, to find a wife and have three little Hamishes running around and playing with a dog in a yard somewhere. So, why does it hurt to watch you with them? To go on dates with those women who don’t deserve you? I will always put your feelings above my own, but it hurts even more when you talk about them, like you are going to leave me as soon as you find one. I don’t like it. It’s a bit not good and you know it, John.”

He buried his head further into John’s chest, leaving a somewhat stunned John with a panicking, emotionally-conflicted detective in his arms. John tried to soothe the detective as his body was overcome with shuddering sobs.

“It ended terribly, you know. As it turns out, she’s been secretly dating Sarah for the past few weeks. Things always end terribly with them, Sherlock. One is a smoker, the next wants a side affair to make her husband jealous, but most are nice and...boring. Sherlock, I do not think that there is a woman, or man for that matter, who has been more capable of capturing my attention than you. When I am with them, I want a case, just so I can see that brilliant look on your face. I was always afraid. You said that you were married to your work and I did not want to strain what we have. Well, what we had. If I had known, I would have acted a lot sooner.”

Sherlock looked up at John with a confused expression. “How would you have acted?”

John simply grinned and placed a chaste kiss to the lips of his best friend. Sherlock returned it happily and with a sigh of relief. 

As the men broke the kiss, they began giggling as they stared into each others eyes, words that were both on the edges of their tongues remaining unspoken. At least, for the time being.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	103. Spring Cleaning (Anthooper) (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to MyriadProBold for the prompt for today. :)
> 
> Enjoy.

As a child, Molly had always adored spring cleaning.

Her mother would take all of the linens in the house and would wash them with a flowery detergent that would permeate the entire house. She was even allowed to help hang the sheets on a clothesline, her mother lifting her up on her shoulders and letting her places pins on the sheets.

Then, all of the windows would be opened and the entire family, her mother, father, and herself, would dust and clean until everything was tidy and sparkled, if it had those scientific properties. 

In London, however, the air was not as clear and the sound of traffic was always present. 

Still, she carried out her small ritual every year, used the same detergent as her mother and cleaned everything and this year was no different.

Alright, there was a small difference. A three-foot tall, thirty pound toddler with big blue eyes and dark curls. 

Molly had offered to let the child spend the night at her flat. Sherlock and Mycroft had just returned from a case that had endured for two weeks and both of the men wanted some time with their respective partners. Anthea had been given a few days off prior to their return so that she could manage Mycroft’s responsibilities whilst he “recovered from a sudden illness”. So, Molly offered to take the child. She preferred the company. 

The little girl had helped her collect all of the sheets and towels and blankets that were being used and put them all into the wash. Next, they moved to start cleaning. Molly would sweep and the child would take the small piles and put them in the garbage or would dust whilst Molly used the special cleaners in another area of the house. 

Overall, the child worked diligently and they were able to accomplish everything rather quickly. 

Molly retrieved the sheets from the wash and left the child on the sofa, watching a documentary, whilst she finished up the few remaining tasks. 

When she returned to the sofa, she found the small child fast asleep, clearly exhausted from the day’s activities. Smiling to herself, she snapped a photo with her phone and then gently lifted the child into her arms.

“Aunt Molly,” said a sleepy Mirabelle. “Can we go to your lab? I found a lunar moth and Papa says I can’t bring bugs into the house. Daddy says it’s fine, but Papa said no.”

“Sure, Mira.” Molly smiled as she stretched out on the sofa and cradled the toddler. She threw a warm blanket from the wash over them and gently stroked the child’s curls. “Go to sleep. We can do whatever you want, within reason, when you wake up from a nap.” 

The child yawned and rested her head on Molly’s chest, closing her big blue eyes. “I wuv you, Aunt Molly.”

“I love you too, dear. Go to sleep.” And she did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	104. Speaking of Love (Johnlock) (Mystrade)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! Two chapters in a row with Mira?
> 
> Enjoy. :)

Mycroft sat silently on the sofa, reading papers, as his niece drew silently on the coffee table in front of him.

He had gotten quite a large amount of work accomplished when he found the six-year-old staring at him from her place at the table. She let out a sigh and turned back to her drawing. Mycroft, continuing to work, noticed this occurrence a few more times, where the child would move to say something but would drop it at the last minute.

He set aside his computer, having finished his work for the day and moved to join the child by the table.

“Mirabelle. Is everything alright?” He asked as he examined her drawings. One was of an accurate heart model, another was of a brain, and finally one was of two stick figures holding hands in the park, it seemed.

“I think something is wrong with me.” Mira said as she fidgeted with the wrapping on the crayon in her hand. “Do you promise not to tell Papa and Daddy?”

“I swear. It is my job to keep secrets.” Mycroft said as he lowered his voice. “So, what is troubling you?”

The child examined him skeptically with her large blue eyes before sighing and closing them to gain some focus. “Is it okay to like a boy, Uncle Mycroft? For a girl, I mean. You and Daddy and Papa and Uncle Greg and Aunt Molly and Anthea won’t get mad if I like a boy, right?”

Mycroft pondered the topic for a moment. He could see why she would think that “liking boys” was strange and how she might face some apprehensions when confronting her parents about the matter. 

“Mira, we love you, regardless of who you love or like. If you like boys, that is fine. If you like girls, that is alright too. If you like everyone or don’t like anyone, we will still love you. Do whatever will make you happy; Be with the person who makes you happy. So, is there a particular person, my bumblebee?” 

Mycroft smiled as the child’s eyes seemed to get wider and she threw her arms around his neck, smiling. She then stepped backwards and returned to her seat on the floor. “His name is Christopher. Louis and Dotty were trying to take my drawing book with all of the organs and my journal with all of Daddy’s cases that he and Uncle Greg have let me see, and Christopher hit Louis with a stick and he told Dotty and Louis that if they ever hurt me again, they would have to face him and his mum. His mum is a lawyer and she can sue them for...what’s the word? H-A-R-A-S-S-M-E-N-T. That’s how you spell it, I think.”

“So, you like him?” Mycroft inquired as his niece suddenly became shy. 

“Shut up,” Mira retorted as she crossed her arms and put her head on the table. Mycroft barely heard her whisper, “yes”.

He smiled to himself as he heard the door to the flat open, a signal that Sherlock and John were there to pick up their daughter and that Greg would soon be home.

“C’mon, my darling bumblebee. It’s time for you to go home. I promise I won’t tell.” Mycroft helped Mira collect her drawings, noticing that the image of the two stick figures holding hands vaguely resembled his young niece and a young man with sandy-blond hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	105. Spilled Milk (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A thank you to MyriadProBold for the prompt. This chapter may not be exactly what was requested, but the idea popped into my head.
> 
> Enjoy. :)

“Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare do it.” John growled from the entrance to the kitchen, his stance predatory.

“What do you mean?” Sherlock said innocently as he melodramatically batted his eyelashes. He held the last of the milk in his hands and narrowed his eyes at John. “You know, you do not need to have milk in your tea.”

“Yes, I do. Now, give me the milk, or you will have to go down to the store to get more. No, I will MAKE you go to the store.” John approached the detective, trying to corner him in the kitchen. 

“Make me.” Sherlock smirked as he uncapped the carton of milk and raised it to his lips. “You love me. You would not force that upon me.”

“You don’t even like milk. You’re just mad about the cultures, aren't you? Is this some sort of retaliation?” 

Sherlock set the carton on the table with a thump and crossed his arms, pointedly not looking at John. His bottom lip extended outward in a childlike pout. 

“Oh, Sherlock. I’m sorry. I really did not know that they were cultures. Can we make a rule to keep experiments in experiment-designated areas and not in the sock drawer? I promise I won’t touch anything if you set it aside.” John moved to wrap his arms and the detective’s waist, leaning up for a kiss.

John tried to reach behind the man, but Sherlock stepped backwards and John stumbled. “Really, John. What are you willing to do for this precious substance?” Sherlock held the carton in his hands, which John realized only after he ended his stumble by bringing the detective with him.

They landed in a thud on the kitchen floor, the remnants of the milk now on the kitchen tiles and the two grown-men giggling like children. Sherlock straddled the soldier and leaned down to kiss him, John’s fingers pulling his head closer as they ran through the silky, black curls.

Finally, they broke the kiss and John sat back on his elbows to admire the man who had him trapped. 

“I love you so much,” John smiled as he ran a hand lightly across Sherlock’s cheek, “but you are still going to the store...as soon as we finish this…” Sherlock quickly nodded and the two men raced to their bedroom, the spilled milk and conflict forgotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	106. Once Upon A Time (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to lion_62 for the prompt: a bit of kingdom-lock.
> 
> Enjoy! :)

There was once a kingdom far, far away, and it flourished.

The kingdom was ruled by two unlikely companions, King Sherlock of the Holmes Clan and King John, who had been a knight with whom the king had fallen deeply in love. They married and, by some miracle, had been graced with a beautiful daughter, Princess Mirabelle.

The child was surrounded by love and happiness as she grew. The Kings and Queens of neighboring kingdoms would visit and bestow gifts of knowledge and books and unconditional love. Times were the best that they had ever been.

One day, however, the Kings were called to a neighboring kingdom. An evil sorcerer needed to be stopped and King Sherlock need to help his brother, King Mycroft. King John and King Greg, both trained well with weapons, needed to plan a strong military strategy. Princess Mira was subsequently left alone.

She had never been alone; her fathers were always there and, if they were not, her Uncle Mycroft or Aunt Molly were with her. In melancholy, she wandered the halls of the castle.

Finally, she came upon children playing. They were the sons and daughters of the castle staff and they were her age. When she approached them, as children are ought to do, they sneered at her and threw their toys at her. They called her names that she had never heard, that she never wanted to hear again.

In the midst of the turmoil, a valiant knight appeared and brandished a sword, causing the other children to leave. The knight ensured that the princess was uninjured and then delivered an important message: the sorcerer was going to attack the castle. 

Quickly, the knight and the princess, with the help of the knight’s mother - she made a suit of armor for the princess- the princess and the knight prepared to battle the sorcerer. The villain arrived and the battle was harsh, but the princess and the knight were able to defeat the wizard. 

As they waited in the aftermath for the kings, the two held hands and the knight raised the hood of his helmet, revealing himself to be called Sir Christopher. 

“I wish to fight by your side forever, princess, if you will allow me. I love you and have loved you from afar. Please, let me stay by your side.”

The princess had too confessed her affections for the knight and, upon their arrival, the kings consented to the marriage, King John commending both his daughter and the knight for their valiant work. The princess and the knight shared a kiss and held hands and…

***

John sighed softly as he closed the door to Mira’s bedroom. 

Sherlock looked up with a questioning look from his laptop. “How is she?”

“Poor thing, Her fever hasn't broken yet, but it has gone down a bit. She’s out like a light. She should get better soon.” John sat on the sofa beside the detective, curling up to his side. “She’s just like you, you know.”

“How so?” The detective frowned. 

“She talks in her sleep, just like you.” John grinned as he kissed Sherlock’s shoulder. “She was saying something about Christopher Knight.”

“She’s too young to remember that show.” Sherlock murmured.

“It might have been Knight Christopher. There was also mention of a wizard. It is adorable.” John smiled. “I wonder who this Christopher is though. Mycroft mentioned something about him.”

Sherlock only hummed as he mentally reminded himself to investigate this Christopher child, as well as Mira’s other schoolmates. No one was going to steal Mira’s heart. Not yet. And no one was ever going to lay a finger on her, mentally or physically. He would make sure of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	107. In Sickness (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has a medical emergency.
> 
> Thank you to Myriadprobold for the idea.
> 
> Enjoy.

Sherlock felt...terrible.

No, terrible could not describe his condition as he ran cold water over his face. He was definitely feverish. Maybe the Work was finally catching up to him.

He returned to the sofa and glanced at a text from John, who told him to eat dinner. He sighed and closed his eyes, not moving. He was not hungry and he was coming down with something. His body ached and, due to a difficult subject from the previous day, pain radiated through his body from a bruise on his right side.

Besides, whenever he tried to move, nausea and dizziness would soon follow, as did the sharp pains in his side. 

He closed his eyes and waited for John to come home.

***

The case was a six at best, Sherlock knew, but why was he having such a difficult time concentrating?

His breathing had become labored and he leaned against the wall. His body felt too hot in the coat, even though the cool air of winter lingered into spring. The pain in his side was unbearable and he was glad that he hadn't eaten anything. His transport would surely have betrayed him by then, had any food been in his stomach.

John cast a concerned look at his flatmate and lover and broke a conversation with Greg about the body to check on the man.

That’s when Sherlock felt his knees give out from the pain and the dizziness; he chased the black abyss before his vision.

***

Sherlock awoke in a hospital bed, attached to several monitors. On his right sat a table with a jar on it, and inside the jar was what appeared to be a human appendix that appeared to be close to bursting.

What a nice get-well gift.

John was to Sherlock’s left, asleep in the uncomfortable chairs. He looked tired and Sherlock did not have the heart to wake him. Coffee cups littered the trash bin and John’s laptop and phone were there; he had probably been sitting in those chairs for at least two days. 

As if on cue, John stirred and smiled wearily at the detective. “Glad to see you got your beauty rest, love.” John said sleepily as he yawned. “Don’t scare me like that again. Your appendix was so close to bursting.”

Sherlock locked eyes with his soldier and agreed. “I won’t. Well, I’ll try.”

John smiled and the two began giggling. John approached Sherlock’s bed and took his hand, kissing it. “Now, let’s go find a doctor who can better examine you.” John pressed a quick kiss to his detective’s forehead and left the room, leaving the detective wondering what had exactly happened to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	108. And In Surgery (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't resist. A continuation from yesterday from John's POV.
> 
> Enjoy. :)
> 
> Tomorrow, we will have a timer prompt. Now, which couple should it be?

John saw the detective sway, saw him fall to the ground.

Fear made his veins run cold as he ran to the man, to his lover. He felt as if he were running in gelatine, mud. His feet did not move and time went by too slowly.

Finally. Finally he reached his detective and jumped into doctor mode. Greg called an ambulance and watched silently, waiting to catch the doctor if he faltered or crumbled. He didn't. 

When had Sherlock last eaten? Judging by the saliva pooling around his mouth, not when John had told him. Something was definitely wrong though, he noticed as he unbuttoned Sherlock’s coat and shirt. The man was hot to the touch. He had a low grade fever and, upon close inspection, his right abdomen was swollen.

Then the symptoms hit John. Appendicitis. He had seen enough of them in the army to know that if the appendix wasn't removed as soon as possible, bad things would happen. He swallowed a lump in his throat and check Sherlock for any signs of a concussion from the fall as he waited for the ambulance.

***

John cursed as the nurse stood in front of him. 

“Our only available surgeon just went into surgery an hour ago. There is not much that we can do other than wait.” The nurse said as she examined Sherlock’s chart.

“Which is the worst thing that we can do.” John narrowed his eyes at the woman. “Given his health, he could very well die if it bursts.” Suddenly, a thought hit him as he looked at the sleeping man’s face, then back to the nurse. “Let me do it.”

“What?” The nurse cocked an eyebrow at the man, as if he were insane. Well, he was. And he would do anything to save the man he loved.

“I was a trained surgeon when I went into the army. I have performed a surgery like this both in a theater and in a firefight. I am the only chance he has.”

“But, Dr. Watson, you aren't licensed…a lawsuit-”

“Would be the least of your troubles because, if he dies or his appendix bursts, the British government will be unleashed upon this place. Having only one surgeon on hand? Do you know how many are out of work as it is? There have to be some regulations... Go find me the director of this hospital. Now.” John’s back straightened and his eyes became as cold as steel as he assumed the role of Captain Watson.

The nurse followed her orders to a T.

***

John’s heart pounded as adrenaline raced through his system. Five years. He had not been on this side of the operating table in five years. And now, the stakes were higher than they had ever been.

The fear and the danger of a wrong move weighed on his mind.

His hands were as steady as they had ever been.

***

A doctor checked the incisions and stitches, assuring John that he had done a perfect job. The director offered him a place as a surgeon, but he declined. The surgery had been a special case and he knew he wouldn't be able to repeat such an attempt on a stranger. 

He resigned himself to watching over his lover’s bedside from the uncomfortable chairs that the hospital provided. He folded his legs up to his body and, soon, the exhausting of the day’s events were upon him. 

His dreams were blissfully empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	109. Initial Meetings (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As requested by lion_62, a timer/soulmate AU.
> 
> Please note that this is after the cabbie incident and Moriarty is simply another character who is not yet evil. I'm taking liberties here and none of this complies with anything.
> 
> Enjoy. :)

John examined the letter on his wrist. One initial, a first name, one simple letter...how was he supposed to find his soulmate when he could not even tell if it was an M or a W? 

He sighed as he set his gun down and felt the desert heat beat upon him. Mary...he had thought she had been the one…

Apparently not. When they had kissed, nothing had happened. The marks did not disappear, like they supposedly did upon the first kiss of two soulmates. She never called him back. John kicked the sand into the air, retrieved his gun, and marched back to the tent. He had an attack to help plan.

***

Sherlock sighed contentedly as he played the violin, his eyes briefly glancing over the initial on his wrist. 

J. 

James Moriarty. That had been a total disaster of a date. If James was his soulmate, he would much rather be alone. Apparently the S on the other man’s wrist was for another. 

The same had occurred with Janine. How many people had names that began with a J and had an S on their wrist?

Sherlock let out a frustrated sigh and moved to the sofa to sulk. Then, the pain hit him. A searing stab shot through his arm, originating from the mark on his arm. He curled into himself and tried to let it subside. As soon as it did, however, just as the mark faded from his skin, he was struck again with the pain and the mark reappeared. 

God, what was his soulmate doing? Dying?

He whimpered and let the pain overwhelm him until he passed out.

***

Sherlock Holmes was...brilliant, thought John as he remembered racing through the streets of London. It was the most fun he had ever had, jumping across rooftops and forgetting about his damned leg. So was protecting his flatmate, although he did not favor having to shoot people. 

When they had finally settled into the flat that night, as John made the tea, he felt someone enter the room. Sherlock stood in the doorway, examining the doctor and soldier. 

“So, have you found your soulmate yet? Do I have to worry about someone stealing you?” Sherlock joked as he removed the milk from the fridge, clearly expired, and dumped it down the sink.

“Not yet. I can’t even tell what letter it is.” John grinned as he bared his wrist to Sherlock. To the detective, a W stood out in the same neat letting that appeared on his wrist. Sherlock undid his shirt sleeves, revealing the single letter on his skin.

The tea suddenly whistled and John turned towards the kettle, giving Sherlock enough time to invade the doctor’s personal space and pull him into a chaste kiss.

John pushed the detective from him and leaned on the calendar. “What the hell, Sherlock? I've known you for what, three days?”

Sherlock simply smiled at the doctor. “Look at your wrist. My middle name is Sherlock, John. My first name is William.” As if by magic, the marks on both of their arms had faded, as if they were never present. 

The two men locked eyes and smiled at each other, breaking into a fit of giggles. Finally, John swallowed and stepped towards Sherlock, their eyes never breaking contact. 

“Can we try that kiss again?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	110. Commitments (Johnlock) (Mystrade)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A thank you to the lovely Comatose995 for the prompt.
> 
> Enjoy. :)

“C’mon. I know you are tired from last night, but you don’t want to be late for your own wedding day!” John shouted as he entered Sherlock’s childhood bedroom. He searched for his future husband, but saw no sign of him. “Sherl-”

Finally, John’s eyes caught sight of a neatly folded letter on the bed. John’s name was scrawled on the front with what appeared to be fountain pen.

Smiling, John opened the note, only to find a message that made his heart sink.

I’m sorry, John. I cannot do this. - SH

Before John’s knees could give out, he swallowed his emotions and ran from the room, determined to find his lover.

***

Sherlock was startled by the opening of the attic doorway, his breath hitching when he saw John’s head ascend from the floor below. He curled tighter into the bumblebee pillow on the daybed on which he sat. 

“John-” He whimpered as he hid his face, trying to hide the tears.

John crossed the room, immediately pulling the younger man into his arms. “Shhhh. It’s okay, love.” A small sob escaped Sherlock’s body, but he eventually calmed himself. “Sherlock, do you want to talk about it?”

Sherlock turned to meet John’s eyes and sighed, somehow finding the courage, “I can’t do this, John. I want to marry you; I love you. But I’m terrified. What if what we have changes? I don’t want you to leave me because you’ve grown tired of the idea of marriage.” A long pause. “Please don’t leave me alone.”

John’s arms tightened around the man and his fingers gently tugged at the man’s curls. “Sherlock. I love you and I could not leave if I tried. You are my life, my soul, my everything. I know this just sounds like a reassurance, but I will do whatever you wish. We can get married now, in five years, or never. I don’t care if or when it happens. I just want you to stay by my side forever.”

“Thank you, John.” Sherlock murmured. “But I’m not ready.”

“It’s fine.” John pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s forehead. “Now, how do we tell your mother that there isn’t going to be a wedding? And the guests?”

Sherlock grinned at his lover and kissed him lightly. “I know of a certain brother and a certain DI who have been trying for months to gain the courage to ask the other for marriage. I think we can still have a wedding.”

***

Later that afternoon, as the outdoor sun brightened the faces of everyone in attendance, Sherlock and John, the impromptu best men, stood on the altar, facing each other and grinning like fools as the watched a deserving couple kiss for their first times as husbands. 

As they watched the DI and the politician walk down the aisle, John moved to wrap his arm around Sherlock’s waist. The taller man smiled and leaned down to whisper into John’s ear.

“We’re still taking the honeymoon trip.” John smiled and pulled his lover into a forceful kiss. 

He was happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	111. New Neighbors (Mystrade)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to MyriadProBold for the prompt.
> 
> Note: Mycroft is about fifteen or sixteen here. Greg is the same age as Mycroft.
> 
> Enjoy. :)

Mycroft’s breath caught as he saw the moving lorry stop in front of the recently sold house.

Rugby equipment. A twin mattress. Assorted sports posters.

The new neighbors had a son, approximately sixteen. 

The teenager continued to watched through the curtains of his bedroom window, cradling a mug of tea as he observed and deduced. Middle-class family. Recently came into some money. They wanted to purchase a nice home for their children (two?) before their eventual demises in thirty to forty years. The parents, not the children.

Finally, a small car pulled up to the pavement and a young man, around sixteen, stepped into it. He retrieved an acoustic guitar from the back of the car and glanced up at Mycroft’s house.

His deep brown eyes met Mycroft’s for a moment and he smiled. He smiled...at Mycroft. Mycroft felt a blush rise in his cheeks (and something else rise in his trousers) and quickly dropped the curtain, trying to regain his composure.

He had not yet met the boy across the street. Why would he want to be friends, or maybe more than friends, with Mycroft? The young man sat his tea on his bedside table and went to the piano room. He needed a distraction.

***

The doorbell rang a few hours later and Mycroft answered the door. He had been left home alone, as Sherlock had once again burned himself while accidentally setting the stove on fire.

Mycroft’s heart stuttered as the door revealed the new neighbor. He was young, but had a strong jaw and a close shave. His eyes were...beautiful and sinful at the same times. He was like a rugged Adonis to Mycroft.

“Hi, I’m Greg. Greg Lestrade. I saw you in your window and wanted to introduce myself.” He extended his hand and Mycroft could feel his skin heat at the thought of those hands...elsewhere.

“Mycroft Holmes.” He replied coolly as he invited the boy inside. 

“Alright, Myc.” Greg flashed a warm smile and Mycroft felt as if his heart were melting. “I’m new to the area. Care to show me around this town when you have some time.”

“I would like that...how about tomorrow?” Mycroft closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on the different calendars throughout history, only to be stopped with Greg’s words.

“It’s a date, then.” Greg winked...he actually winked at Mycroft. “Well, I just wanted to see if you were free. I have to go now.”

“See you tomorrow.” Mycroft squeaked as he opened the door for Greg and leaned against it as soon as it had closed.

He couldn’t believe it. He, Mycroft Holmes, had a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	112. It's a Date! (Mystrade)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A continuation from yesterday.
> 
> Enjoy! :)
> 
> Note: Greg is too young (legally) to drive a motorcycle in the UK. Please do not attempt to conduct any vehicles without being properly certified by your government. Thank you.
> 
> Note 2: The author was actually harmed by a table today in the same manner that is written. Unfortunately, no one came to the author's aid. In the near future, however, there will be stories that include faulty tables.

Greg Lestrade had a motorbike.

Greg Lestrade had a motorbike and a date with Mycroft. 

Mycroft had neither ridden a motorbike, nor had he ever been on a date. Needless to say, he was extremely nervous as he opened the door to find Greg, standing in all his glory in black jeans that hugged his hips and a band shirt that was covered in a black leather jacket. Mycroft’s mouth went dry as Greg offered him a helmet and a large grin. 

“We’re telling Mummy. And Nanny, when she realizes that we aren’t playing hide and seek anymore.” Sherlock said from behind Mycroft, towing his sister behind him. Anthea, a five-year old with a rebellious streak and a dislike for Sherlock, looked from the older brother to the younger brother...and immediately bit Sherlock’s hand. She then took off running down the hall, giving Mycroft enough time to close and lock the door behind him.

“Everything okay?” Greg asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“My brother is annoying and my baby sister favors me. She served as a distraction so I could leave.” Mycroft sighed. “Let’s go, yeah?”

“Your wish is my command.” Greg grinned as he guided the young man towards the motorcycle. They both put on their helmets. “Although, I would suggest you hold on for the ride to town.”

Mycroft watched as Greg mounted the vehicle first and then gestured for him to sit behind him and hook his arms around Greg’s waist. Mycroft’s heart hammered at the contact.

“Aren’t you a bit too young to have a motorcycle license?” Mycroft shouted over the roar of the engine.

“My da taught me. Don’t worry. I know the rules. Laws are meant to be broken anyway.” Mycroft could imagine the smug grin on Greg’s face as they took off down the road.

***

The night had been absolutely...perfect and horrid at the same time. 

He and Greg had gone to the movies and then for ice cream. But, as they were eating, Mycroft had dropped his wallet and, at the same exact moment, the table collapsed on him, striking him hard in the shoulder.

Sure, the injury hurt like hell, but the feeling of Greg’s fingers on his skin, checking the wounds, in the car park was paradise. 

They decided to call it a night, and Greg drove them home, Mycroft’s chin tucked into his neck the entire time. They stood in the middle of the street, ready to return to their respective houses but not wanting to leave.

“I’m going to be grounded, most likely.” Mycroft murmured as he looked at the ground.

“If your mum told my mum, me too.” Greg laughed. He then sighed and gazed at the stars that had appeared with the night. “Stay with me, just for a few more minutes, or forever; I won’t mind...” He swallowed, also looking at his feet and hooking Mycroft’s pinkie finger with his own. “Can we go on another date?”

“Of course, Gregory.” Mycroft smiled. “I really should be-”

And suddenly Greg leaned up to kiss Mycroft. He kissed him hard and passionately. Mycroft, after the initial shock, returned it with vigor until they both were panting. 

“So, goodnight? I’ll see you as soon as my punishment is lifted.” Mycroft offered a weak smile as the blood flooded his cheeks.

“Goodnight, Mycroft.” Greg pressed another quick kiss to Mycroft’s lips and squeezed his hand before turning and going towards his house.

Mycroft smiled, squared his shoulder, and turned to face his fate. The porch lights were on and Mummy’s silhouette was outlined in the front window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	113. My Hero (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which John is saved from a table!
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Sorry. My phone isn't cooperating with posting. I'll post another chapter tonight when I can get to a laptop.

John Watson was not a very tall man.

Sherlock, however, was.

 

John had just finished searching the lower cabinets for bread for his morning toast. No bread had been present.

 

"Sherlock, where is the bread?" John called to the bedroom, where his lover responded with a mumble that sounded like "the top cabinet". Sighing, John grabbed a chair to use as a stool, only he could just barely touch the handle. He then moved the table against the countertop and climbed onto it.

 

He had just retrieved the bread when two things happened at once. One, Sherlock entered the room groggily; and two, an ear splitting sound of wood cracking echoed through the room and the table collapsed.

 

John fell backwards, seemingly in slow motion. He braced himself for the hit, but his fall was cushioned by the warm body of the detective.

 

John felt two long arms encircle his waist as he tried to calm his beating heart. Adrenaline still pumped through his veins as he sat up and looked at the detective.

 

"Sherlock, are you alright?"

 

The man, eyes winced in pain, groaned as he tried to elevate his torso. "I've had worse. My ribs might be a bit bruised. That's it. I've fallen off of buildings, John. I can handle you falling a few feet."

 

He chuckled as John crawled to sit in front of him, scanning him for injuries. Finally John sighed and collapsed into his lover's arms.

 

"Thank you for saving me." He whispered as he kissed Sherlock's neck. "My hero. How can I ever repay you?"

 

John's eyes glinted mischievously as he pulled the detective to his feet and towards the bedroom.

 

***

 

As the lovers laid in their post-coital bliss, an idea struck John.

 

"You put the bread in the cabinet so you could get a better view of my arse, didn't you?" He asked.

 

Sherlock hid his face in his lover's neck so that John couldn't see his grin. "Of course not, John."

 

"You berk. I love you." John smiled and kissed Sherlock's hair. "Don't do it again. Mrs. Hudson will kill us if we break any more furniture."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	114. In a Jam (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some more domestic fluff. :)
> 
> Enjoy.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the unopened jar of jam in his hands.

 

He once more tried to turn the lid, to no avail. He needed the jar for an experiment, but his plan was not working.

 

At some point, John noticed the struggles of the detective, mainly when the detective had moved into the sitting room and held out the jar to John while making puppy-dog eyes.

 

John took the jar and tried to twist the lid, but it wouldn't budge.

 

"I can go buy you a jar, Sherlock." He smiled as the detective huffed, claiming that it had to be a jam jar, not a sanitary one. He then mentioned something about bees, but John did not want to inquire further.

 

After the men had struggled for a few minutes, they noticed that Mrs. Hudson was watching them.

 

"My my, you two do seem to be in a bit of a jam," she chuckled as she took the jar from John.

 

Within seconds, the lid was off and the two men stared in amazement.

 

"You never know when you'll need to poison someone's morning toast, boys." She grinned and retreated contentedly downstairs, leaving the boys slightly confused.

 

"She was a spy. It wouldn't surprise me."

Sherlock shrugged as he proceeded to empty the contents of the jar into another container.

 

John simply sighed, mumbling, "we loosened it" as he returned to his morning paper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	115. Tension (Mystrade)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy. :)
> 
> I feel like I've been neglecting Anthooper. :( 
> 
> Do any of you have suggestions for prompts?

Mycroft sent three interns crying from his office within fifteen minutes of entering the building. 

Needless to say, even with his tea, he was irritable and making life very unpleasant for everyone involved. Without a word, Anthea texted Greg and cleared Mycroft’s schedule for the day and silently hoped that Greg would right Mycroft’s recent attitude. 

Greg appeared shortly after lunch and marched to Anthea’s desk. “How is he?” He whispered, as though the man might hear them through the doorway. 

“He threw a pencil cup at an intern for breathing too loudly and yelled at the other two for fidgeting during the first occurrence. I tried to make him eat something, but he’s refusing anything but tea and coffee. He’s had four cups of coffee, black.” Greg simply nodded and squared his shoulders as he prepared himself. He gave Anthea a small grin, and then pushed himself into the room, leaving Anthea to breathe a sigh of relief.

***

Mycroft had his hand’s in his hair, something that he did when he was agitated. His eyes snapped up to Greg as the man entered the room and stood in front of his desk.

“Gregory, I am in the middle of a very important-”

“You are going to come home with me right now.” Greg ordered as he slipped into a commanding tone. “Do not make me repeat myself.”

Mycroft opened his mouth to argue, but the look on Greg’s face made him think otherwise. He hastily complied. 

***

The tension in Mycroft’s body, and likely on his mind, was terrible as Greg ran a firm hand up his lover’s bare back. Mycroft whimpered at the touch and Greg smiled softly as he heard the man sigh as Greg placed lotion on his worn muscles.

He kneaded the man’s back with a gentle but strong pressure and he felt the man melt beneath him. He moved from the back to the neck, then to the arms and to the legs, making sure that each of the man’s muscles were relaxed. 

Finally, when Greg finished, Mycroft rolled onto his back, his eyes pleading for a kiss and the man’s touch. 

Greg relented, bringing his mouth to the younger man’s gently and stroking his sides as their limbs intertwined. With all of the tension having vanished from his body, the younger man drifted gently off to sleep during the sweet, slow kisses. 

Greg simply held him, the man he loved and for whom he would do anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	116. Gossip (Anthooper)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to lion_62 for the prompt idea!
> 
> Enjoy. :)

Molly and Anthea collapsed onto the sofa after a long day. Both of them had showered and were wrapped in their fluffy dressing gowns, curled up to each other and trying to relax.

“So, what happened to you today?” Molly asked as she handed her lover a glass of wine and the television remote. 

“It was perfectly horrid.” Anthea sipped at the wine and sat it on the side table. “Mycroft looked positively murderous; I had to call Greg to take him home so that I could get some work done. How was your day?”

“Sherlock was in a strop, again. I swear, his tantrums are getting worse, especially when he has a domestic with John.” Molly sighed as she pressed her face into Anthea’s neck and breathed in her scent.

Anthea smiled softly at her lover and stroked her hair gently. “It cannot be as bad as when Lestrade and Mycroft make-up after a fight. God, I never want to see male genitalia again. There are way too many bodily fluids that can be spilled onto the carpet. The walls are not exactly sound proof either. I mean, clearly Lestrade is talented, but I do not want to hear it every time they have a fight. Can you use that wonderful mind to create a cleaner for... certain stains?”

Molly giggled at the story and sighed. “Well, today I walked in on something that I did not want to see in one of the spare labs. John thought it would cure our lovely detective of his attitude, but I have been scarred for life, I believe. John was so embarrassed that he dropped Sherlock onto the floor and accidentally broke a set of glassware. You need to find a way to remove a person’s memories and I can make a cleaner.”

Anthea smiled and kissed Molly’s forehead. “Why don’t we do things like that? Like going out and having fun and being semi-indecent like those four. I’ve seen the camera footage, unfortunately, for all of them.”

Molly pondered the idea for a moment, then smiled. “I know of a club that Sherlock frequented for a case. We could go on Friday. It would be a change, at least.”

“I love you so much. I adore you. My Molly, my Mollusk. Yes, I shall call you my mollusk from now on. Now, come here.” Anthea grinned as she kissed Molly again, her hands moving surreptitiously to tickle the woman under her arms. Molly began giggling and jumped from her space on the sofa. 

“Stop that.” Molly laughed as she threw a pillow at Anthea. “If you do, however, want something to do with your hands, I will be in the bedroom.”

Anthea grinned to herself and followed her lover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	117. Fears (Anthooper)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there is a trigger warning here: there are needles and mentions of blood in detail. 
> 
> The second half, denoted by ***, should be safe for everyone.
> 
> Enjoy.

Sherlock and John were called out suddenly on a case by Mycroft and Mira had an appointment with her pediatrician.

It was not just a check-up, of course not. No, the child was getting her first vaccinations for school. 

Molly swallowed a lump in her throat as she checked the child into the clinic and sat in the chairs to wait for that doctor. The child knew what was happening, but seemed calm and collected. Molly, however, was panicking.

She had a severe fear of needles, well, needles that would enter a living human body. She could not explain it, aside from an incident that had occurred when she had donated blood once as a teenager. She had fainted and still did not remember the event, although a retrospective glance would tell her that the nurse had forgotten to attach a tube to the needle and Molly’s blood went everywhere.

Needless to say, she could not be in the same room as anyone receiving vaccinations. 

The doctor called them back, a nice elderly woman with a large smile. They went over a few diagnostic tests and everything seemed fine. Then the vaccinations were brought into the room.

Molly felt stifled by the air in the room, but she could not leave. Big blue eyes watched her expectantly, asking her to stay for moral support. She tried to calm herself, but her breathing was shallow and she was lightheaded.

Still, she smiled at the child and held her hand, letting her squeeze it with the pinches of the needles.

Molly made it to the third and finally injection before falling to the floor. 

***

Molly was on the floor. Her back ached; her head ached. She sat up slowly to find Mira, the doctor, an Anthea standing over her. Anthea looked out-of-breath, as if she had rushed from- She probably had.

Molly gave her a weak smile and tried to stand, but her legs were weak. Anthea helped her onto the examination table and the doctor quickly pressed an ice compress to Molly’s head.

“Thank you,” she replied sheepishly.

“It’s okay. We get fainters all of the time, only, it is usually the one getting the shot. I’ll give you a few minutes and process little Mira’s results.” The doctor quietly excused herself and Mira and Anthea surrounded Molly. 

Mira had a lollipop in her mouth and superhero Elastoplast on her arm and legs. She held a extra Elastoplast in her hand and placed it on Molly’s hand.

“There. All better.” She giggled. She then pulled one of the magazines from the rack beside the table and began reading.

“I would have taken her.” Anthea said in a whisper as she hugged Molly, stroking her hair. “You need to tell me these things though. I need to know what triggers you have; I cannot have you fainting every five minutes. I love you, but I want to know that you are safe.”

“But it’s silly though. What doctor is afraid of needles? I work with cadavers and saws and scalpels.” Molly muttered as she buried her face in Anthea’s neck.

“You are human, my love. You can have fears. You can choose whether or not to face them. I love you regardless and I will help you for whichever choice you make.”

Anthea kissed Molly’s forehead, then took her hand, helping her to stand, shakily, on her legs. “C’mon Mira. Let’s go finish up our paperwork so we can go get ice cream.” Anthea smiled at the child and then at her uneasy lover. 

What was she going to do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	118. Surprise Guest (Hangelo) (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As requested, Mrs. Hudson and Angelo acting as grandparents.
> 
> Enjoy. :)

Mrs. Hudson was surprised to find the small child sitting on her sofa when she exited her bedroom to get her morning tea. 

"Good morning, Mira. Where are your fathers?" She glanced at the clock; it was barely past eight. 

The four year old had been drawing in a coloring book with pencils and did not look up from her activity. "Papa and Daddy fell asleep on the sofa. They were tired last night, so I wanted to let them sleep. May I stay here, Nana?"

The child had taken to using that term of endearment and Mrs. Hudson didn't mind. She rarely saw her actual grandchildren, so the affection was welcome.

"Of course, Mira. Let me put the kettle on and get dressed." Mrs. Hudson then put the water on the stove to boil and returned to her room. 

She pushed at Angelo's bare shoulder; he had moved into the flat recently and she had learned that he slept like a rock. 

"Get up," she hissed. "Mira is here. Get dressed." 

Eventually, the man stirred and Mrs. Hudson went to dress herself. 

***

Angelo adored Mira, as if he were her grandfather. He had no children, but had adopted, in a sense, the two men who lived upstairs. 

"Nana, Angelo, can you teach me how to cook?" The child asked after having silently been coloring for an hour. "This book is boring." 

Mrs. Hudson smiled at the child and lifted her from the couch, balancing the child on her hip. "Of course. What would you like to make?"

The child thought for a moment. "Cookies and pasta. Cookies for me, pasta for Papa and Daddy and you and Angelo."

Mrs. Hudson and Angelo both agreed, smiling at their adopted granddaughter. 

***

An hour later, the pasta was in the refrigerator so it could be reheated for lunch and the cookies were cooling on the tray. 

All three of them were absolutely covered in flour as a result of a flour fight. Mrs. Hudson had thrown flour into Angelo's face and he did the same. Mira accidentally dropped a bowl of it and caused it to go into the air. They were covered in head to toe and the battle had ended with the couple kissing as Mira covered her eyes in disgust. 

They cleaned the best they could and finally retired to the sofa to watch a movie. Mira, so as not to spoil her appetite, was given one cookie...by each grandparent when the other was out of the room. 

Around noon, Sherlock and John burst into Mrs. Hudson's flat, out of breath. "Have you seen- We searched our flat- Oh."

The men both breathed sighs of relief when they saw their daughter. "We thought something-" The terrified parents met the reassuring gazes of the older couple as Sherlock tried to find his words. "Thank you. Thank you so much for watching her. We were exhausted." 

"It's fine, dear." Mrs. Hudson smiled at the man. "We all made you three dinner and dessert. I think we kept her safe enough. Mira, let's get your things together so you can go back up stairs." 

The child jumped to her feet and started to find her pencils. Angelo took the packed pasta and cookies and gave them to John. 

"She was a doll." Angelo smiled at the doctor. "If you two ever need us to watch her, send her to us. Then you will know she's safe." John nodded and said thank you as he awkwardly shook Angelo's hand. 

"Come along, Mira." The child bounced along at her father's voice and waved goodbye to Mrs. Hudson and Angelo. They thanked them one final time, then left to go talk about the importance of leaving notes with their child. 

Mrs. Hudson sighed as Angelo buried his face in her neck. "Let's go finish the movie."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	119. Cake (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks go to Charles the Ninth for the prompt for today.
> 
> Enjoy! :)

Sherlock was exhausted. 

Everyone was gone. Mrs. Hudson was out of town with Angelo for her birthday (she was due to return the next day), John was at a medical conference, Mycroft and Anthea were out of the country, and Greg and Molly were with their respective partners.

Well, everyone who was not a screaming two-year-old was gone. 

Mira had been going through the phase when a child develops its first understanding of existence and when it wants to test every damn boundary that the parent sets.

Needless to say, Sherlock was exhausted physically and emotionally. He finally had gotten her to sleep around midnight when he remembered: John had asked him to make a cake for Mrs. Hudson so that they could surprise her for her birthday.

He had intended to purchase one, but the shops were all closed and he was too tired to do anything of effort. 

Mustering what little energy he could, he found a boxed cake mix and, after drifting off to sleep only three times, he placed it in the oven. He closed his eyes and waited for the cake to bake.

Only, when he opened his eyes around three in the morning, the cake had not baked. He pulled the pan from the rack and placed it on the floor by the table (because it made perfect sense to him), examining it. Had he created a cake mix that would not bake? He stifled a yawn as he glanced at the clock.

Mira would be awake in a few hours and he was so tired. Why would the cake not cook? What had he done wrong? Was he a complete failure as both a chef and a parent?

His sleep-deprived brain raced, growing more and more anxious until he was in tears and convinced that John would leave him for one of the doctors at the conference. 

“Sherlock?” The upset man jumped as he felt a hand on his shoulder. He fell flat onto his back. John knelt beside him and helped the man to his feet. “It’s almost four thirty. Why are you still awake? God, you look exhausted.”

Sherlock could only feel shame as he looked at the cake pan. “I remembered that we needed a cake after I put Mira to bed and the shops were closed and it won’t bake, John. Heat does nothing to it.” The detective was growing frustrated with his mind and body; they did not want to cooperate. He swayed slightly and John quickly wrapped an arm around his waist.

“I’ve got you. It’s alright, Sherlock. I’m finished with my conference and I can get one in the morning at the store.” Sherlock practically collapsed onto John as the doctor carried the man into their bedroom. Sherlock curled into a ball around John instinctively as they crawled into bed, though he still mumbled.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” John replied.

“Why though? Why is it still...gooey and flat?”

“Because you forgot to turn the oven on, you genius.” But Sherlock was already asleep, his cheek pressed between John’s shoulder blades.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	120. Hate (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not mean to offend anyone's beliefs. If I do, please tell me and I can work to correct it. I do not practice a religion, so if I have any inaccuracies on here, please tell me and I will correct it immediately. 
> 
> Warning: some descriptions of violence (hate crime) and prejudice. The views expressed by the headmaster are not my views; I am using them for the plot. 
> 
> Thank you all for understanding.
> 
> Enjoy.

Sherlock jumped at the text message from John.

Mira’s been in a fight. Come immediately. - JW

Greg only felt the detective breeze by him as the man went to hail a cab.

***

The headmaster of the school firmly shook the hands of the two men and gestured for them to sit. “I apologize for the inconvenience, but as you know, our tolerance policy for violence states that any student who starts a fight must be expelled.”

“Could you explain to us what happened first?” Sherlock said sternly. “And I would like my daughter to be brought in here as well, so that we can hear her side of the story.”

The headmaster sighed and buzzed over the intercom system for Mira. The seven-year-old entered solemnly, a bluish-black bruise starting to form around her eye. It had to hurt. John, still listening, gestured for Mira to sit beside him so that he could examine her for any more injuries.

Anger flashed into Sherlock’s eyes as he saw his daughter. Someone had hurt his child and he would get to the bottom of the manner. He settled his gaze on the headmaster, who promptly began.

“Your daughter attacked three of our students. One boy had a broken nose, one had a broken wrist, and the other had a dislocated shoulder.”

“And what will happen to these boys?” Sherlock asked. “Are they being expelled as well?”

“They will receive detention. Your daughter, however, started the-”

John narrowed his eyes at the headmaster. “Our daughter has a black eye, a bruised rib, and a possible concussion from these boys. People can die from concussions. Yet, you do nothing to them and you do not call a doctor to examine her. We should sue for neglect. Mira, what started this fight anyhow?”

“Sir, I assure-” The headmaster tried to backtrack, but this time the child cut him off. 

“I was addressed, not you, sir. My fathers tell me to respect my elders, but I demand the same respect.” She crossed her arms, closed her eyes for a moment so that she could think, then began.

“Those boys. They started it. They were making fun of Alice.” At the confused look of Alice, she added, “Alice is my new friend. She just came here from France. We’ve been speaking French together. Anyway, we were talking about a book that we were reading and then the boys surrounded us. They threw Alice to the ground and tried to remove her hijab. I pulled one of them by the arm, then the other two started kicking and punching us. So, I fought them, just like you taught me, Papa.” She smiled at her father as he smiled faintly at her. “Where is Alice? Is she okay?”

“Alice has also been expelled…” The headmaster mumbled as Sherlock glanced at John and nodded at him to take Mira out of the room. 

The father and daughter heard Sherlock through the thick walls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	121. Respect (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A continuation from my last post. The same notes apply. 
> 
> I do not mean to offend anyone's beliefs. If I do, please tell me and I can work to correct it. I do not practice a religion, so if I have any inaccuracies on here, please tell me and I will correct it immediately. 
> 
> Warning: some descriptions of violence (hate crime) and prejudice. The views expressed by the headmaster are not my views; I am using them for the plot. 
> 
> Thank you all for understanding.
> 
> Enjoy.

“So, you are telling me that my daughter is being punished for protecting another student from what could be deemed to be both bullying and a hate crime. She and this other girl are punished, just because you do not have the common sense to ask these children what happened. You assumed them to be delinquent and thus their words do not matter to you. You also let societal prejudices influence your decisions. You would much rather hear from the gay fathers who will listen to what you say and from the immigrants who do not speak English, correct? It’s much better than telling three sets of parents that their sons were beaten up by a girl. Your ignorance disgusts me. I will have you know that we are immediately pulling my daughter out of this system. I would also like to talk to the parents of Alice. This event will not go on any of their records; otherwise, your wife might find out that you are the father to the office secretary’s baby.” 

Sherlock's voice grew increasingly more annoyed and louder. He spat the words as his anger and irritation bubbled. His eyes remained locked with the headmaster's and the headmaster tried to make himself as small as possible. Sherlock ended his speech by slamming a fist onto the man's desk and smirking as the headmaster nearly wet himself. He swept out of the room dramatically, his Belstaff billowing behind him.

Meekly, the headmaster called for Alice’s parents and sent the two families to a private conference room.

***

Alice was a small, shy child, but she smiled brightly as soon as Mira entered the room. They hugged immediately and began babbling in French as Sherlock and John approached Alice’s parents. 

“Bonjour, je m’appelle Sherlock Holmes. C’est ma fille, Mira. Nos filles ont une relation, je crois.” Alice’s parents smiled as Sherlock offered his hand and were relieved that he could speak French. They too immersed themselves in a conversation. John could only catch a few words here and there, but he understood that Sherlock was offering to pay for private schooling and for any of the expenses incurred from the fight for Alice. 

Finally, after the negotiations ended, they all stood to say their goodbyes, John finally spoke, “Why don’t we all go get dinner after a quick trip to the clinic?”

The parents looked apprehensive, but John continued. “Don’t worry, all of the food is halal and I have a colleague who can look at Alice. She also practices Islam and can speak French rather fluently.” Sherlock translated, and they ended up having a marvelous time.

***

That night, John asked Sherlock why he had offered to pay for Alice’s private schooling. It was bound to get expensive as the years progressed.

“There is a private school here in London that owes me a large favor. A decreased tuition for two students is a small price for what I did for the school. Besides, she’s happy, John. They both are happy to be in each other’s company. I couldn’t take that away from them.”

John curled into Sherlock’s chest and Sherlock pressed a kiss to John’s forehead. “I love you.” John murmured. 

“I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	122. Out (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so today's topic of the day is...sexuality.
> 
> I know some of these topics have been controversial recently and I don't mean to offend anyone. Please tell me if I do. 
> 
> Enjoy. 
> 
> (I actually wrote this based on some of my experiences. Let's just say that some people are not as accepting as John and Sherlock.)

Mira took a deep breath as she descended the step and squared her shoulders. The seventeen-year old’s heart raced as she stood in front of the kitchen table, where her two fathers ate their toast and drank their morning tea. 

Sherlock was looking through his microscope and John was reading the paper. They look to her when she cleared her throat.

“Good morning, Mira.” John smiled as he sat the paper down and handed her a slice of toast and her own tea. “You are up rather early for a Saturday. Are you going to hang out with Alice today or something?”

“Yeah, later though.” She said coolly as she sipped at her tea. She swirled it around a bit before finally collecting her nerves. “So, can we talk seriously for a moment? No deductions or interjections. Just let me say what I have to say.”

John set down his paper, suddenly worried, and Sherlock pushed away his microscope. “Bumble, is everything okay?”

“I think that I might be asexual.” She said hurriedly. “It has been bothering me for a while. Some LGBT groups don’t accept asexuality and everyone had been trying to pressure me into things and I just…” She took a deep breath. “I am not sexually attracted to anyone, at least not anyone that I’ve met. I don’t get butterflies in my stomach when I kiss a boy or when i kiss a girl. I’ve tried both. I don’t even know why I told you…” She kept her eyes on her tea, only to look up when both of her fathers put their hands over hers. 

“Mirabelle,” Sherlock began. “We love you, no matter what. We could care less what society thinks. It is fine if you like boys or girls or someone who is neither or both or even if you like no one at all. We love you and will accept you. For gods sake, your father is bisexual and I am demisexual. I know it is frustrating; you feel like you will never have a normal relationship with someone because they will want something that you cannot return. You will find someone though, my dear. You will find someone who loves you for who you are.”

John smiled at his daughter and then at Sherlock. “We will try to help you as best we can. If you have any questions about asexuality, you can ask your father. He thought he was asexual for about twenty years. But sexuality is fluid like that. Just do what feels right for you and we will go along with that.”

Mira breathed a sigh of relief as she hugged her fathers. “Thank you. I had some friends tell me that sexuality isn’t real and that I just haven’t found the right person yet.”

“The right person is one who will accept every part of you and who won’t try to change your sexuality. Love those you love in the way that you can. That is all that anyone should ask of you. If anyone makes your uncomfortable, send them to us. We can...convince them otherwise.” Sherlock leaned over the table to kiss John. 

“Thank you.” Mira smiled at them and bounced to her feet. “Alright, I’m going to Alice’s now. She’s going to teach me some of her baking recipes. I’ll bring you both back some treats.”

And with that, their daughter grabbed her black trench coat and bounced happily out of the flat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	123. Finals (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This goes as a shout-out to anyone who is taking final/AP/IB exams over these next few weeks. Hang in there; I believe in you!
> 
> Enjoy!

John’s eyes blurred before him as he tried to concentrate on the page. He blinked slowly, as glancing at the clock: 1:00 AM. He had a final in twelve hours. Plenty of time to study, right?

Sherlock found John slumped over his textbooks at his desk around three in the morning. God, John looked exhausted.

Sherlock glanced at the page, his eyebrow quirking slightly. John already knew this information. Sherlock had an in-depth discussion with him about it not two weeks previously. Why was he-

Oh. He was on the verge of an anxiety attack. In the days usually before an attack, John would usually focus on the problem until the stress became too great. 

Sherlock thought for a moment, then gently shook John’s shoulder. “John, you are going to get into bed right now.”

John,jolting a bit, lifted his head, frowning at the light from his lamp and looking groggily at Sherlock. “Can’t. Have to study. My final is tomorrow.”

“You aren’t helping yourself as it is. Your capacity to memorize is reduced when you are tired. You need to take a break from all of this information. If you cram, it will be too much.” Sherlock pulled John to his feet and led the man to his bed. 

***

Trying to fit both of the college students onto a twin mattress was interesting, to say the least, but they made it work. John curled up against Sherlock’s body, his breathing slow and even. Sherlock ran his fingers through the man’s golden hair. 

“Just hold on a bit more, my dear. I would do anything to help you, but you need to learn how to manage the stresses of life. Just hold on the best you can. I believe in you.”

John sighed in his sleep, finally relaxing a little, and Sherlock smiled at the man in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	124. Pillow Forts (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which the author expresses some frustration with the education system of a certain country...
> 
> Thank you to the wonderful and amazing lion_62 for the prompt! :)
> 
> Enjoy.

John felt a tightness in his chest as he read the results. He threw the paper onto the ground. So fucking close. But he wasn’t good enough. He was third. Third in the entire class at the university for his year. Not first, not second, just third. 

If only he had taken one more course, he would have had the top spot. 

He had worked so hard, had wanted to prove to his parents and his sister that he was worth something. But now, he was just another face in a crowd, in a sea of graduation caps. So many years...and no recognition. What was he now? Nothing. He was nothing. 

By the time he arrived at his room, his breathing was quick and he was lightheaded. He could feel the frustration starting to boil just beneath his skin, feel the panic attack that would result from it. He didn’t know whether to cry or hit something or both. He closed his eyes and tried to calm himself; he didn’t want Sherlock to see him like this - emotionally wrecked and angry and losing control.

Suddenly, he felt two strong arms wrap around his waist, felt a warm body pressed against his back. “Shhh…” Sherlock whispered in his ear. “It’s been a rough day for you, I know. I have those horrid James Bond movies that you like and popcorn.”

John shifted, turning in Sherlock’s arms so that the taller man could wrap him in an embrace. Sherlock leaned down to whisper into John’s ear, “I made a pillow fort.” He ran his hands up the shorter man’s sides, causing John to jump slightly.

They both started giggling. “Stop that. I’m ticklish.” John cried as he climbed under the blanket of the pillow fort that had been assembled between their beds. Sherlock had removed both of the mattresses, creating a wall with one and a cushioned floor with the other. 

Sherlock followed quickly after John, a laptop and the promised bowl of popcorn in his hands. They situated themselves so that John was tucked into Sherlock’s body. Sherlock’s chin rested on the curve of John’s neck and they watched the movie as Sherlock ran his fingers lightly on John’s side, tracing random patterns onto the small portion of exposed skin between his shirt and his jeans.

“Thank you, Sherlock.” John murmured as the movie’s credits played. “I don’t deserve you. I’m not right, well, in the head-”

“Don’t you dare, John Watson. You deserve so much more. Even if it takes years, I will make sure that you understand how important, how deserving you are. I do not care if you have a mental illness. I would not care if you were normal. I love you, all of you.” Sherlock then closed the laptop and swung a leg over John so that he was straddling the man. “Now, let me appreciate you even more than I already do.”

John smiled as he caught the taller man’s lips with his own.

In the back of his mind, even though it was only in his subconscious, John was actually starting to believe the man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	125. Perfect (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As requested, a bit of ballet! Sherlock and rugby! John. Yay!
> 
> I would like to thank the lovely MyLittleServant for this prompt.
> 
> Enjoy! :)
> 
> (I took an AP exam today. I am finished for this week, but have three more next week. Just keeping you all updated, if any of you have been keeping track or anything.)

Sherlock rarely became interested in a person, but when a person captured his attention, Sherlock became an unrelenting torrent. 

Well, after he started a conversation, of course. Before any initial contact, Sherlock remained distant and watchful, waiting for the right time to interject himself into the life of a person. On one occasion, and probably the most important one, he was thrown head first into the wonderful world of John Watson.

***

Sherlock had John’s rugby practice schedule memorized. Often, the player would stay on the field, practicing well into the night long after his teammates had left. So what if Sherlock enjoyed watching the young man as he himself returned from his ballet rehearsals. So what if he lingered a bit longer than usual to admire the way John’s muscles moved beneath his sweat-soaked clothing.

Sherlock was capable of admiring a person, in theory. He had never tested it, but he had run scenarios in his head hundreds of times, of he and John going on dates and dancing slowly as music played from a stereo.

Sherlock found himself gravitating towards the man, was brought out of a trance-like state to find his feet on the slightly-damp field and a ball hurtling towards his face. He did not have time to react and found himself lying on his back, his nose in a large amount of pain.

He also found the rather attractive rugby player leaning over him. “I am so sorry. I did not see you. Here, let’s look at your nose. Are you okay?” John quickly pulled the man to his feet and led him to a bench. 

Sherlock simply stared at the man, his brain trying to process what was happening. John’s hands were on his shoulder, squeezing his hand, touching his face. The feeling was like lightning in his veins; he had been wondering about John’s touch, how gentle he was, ever since the man had corrected their professor. John had thus become the student who corrected the teacher and Sherlock was no longer the only outcast, well, at least in the classroom.

“I don’t think it is broken. Just a bit bloody. How do you feel? Do we need to take you to A and E?” John smiled as he searched in his bag for a tissue. 

Sherlock assessed his injury; he was a bit dazed, but he did not have a concussion. “I’m fine. Um...thank you.” He murmured as he pressed the tissue to his nose. 

“Good.” John smiled as he placed a strong hand on Sherlock’s shoulder. “I would have hated to have ruined such a beautiful face…” John suddenly realized his mistake and blushed deeply. “Sorry, I-”

“It’s fine.” Sherlock smiled as he looked at his feet. “Your face is...nice too.”

The two boys looked at their feet as a silence established itself between them. Finally, John broke the quiet, “You still look to be a bit unsteady on your feet. May I walk you home? To make sure that you don’t pass out or anything.” 

Sherlock nodded and waited for John to grab his things.

When John returned, he smiled at Sherlock and brazenly grabbed the boy’s hand, interlocking their fingers.

“Is this alright?” John’s worried eyes searched Sherlock’s.

“It’s perfect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	126. Pampered (Anthooper)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to MyLittleSecret for the prompt. 
> 
> Enjoy. :)
> 
> Also, for the text messaging:  
> M.H. - Molly  
> MH - Mycroft
> 
> Molly has the same initials as Mycroft, thus Anthea gets them confused when receiving messages sometimes.

Anthea received a text message as she exited the building.

Get in the car. - M.H.

She sighed as she ran through a list of things that could have possibly gone wrong in the half hour that she had not been by Mycroft’s side. Really, it seemed as if he could not do anything without her. Now, here she was, working late on her anniversary.

She climbed into the black car that had pulled up to the curb, closing the door and expecting to find her boss with another stack of paperwork.

Instead, she found her girlfriend and a packed suitcase. She quirked an eyebrow, but Molly simply smiled and kissed her lover. “Happy Anniversary. I know that you are tired, so you can sleep for a few hours. We should be there in about five hours.” 

When Molly asked for Anthea to elaborate, the scientist merely smiled and changed the subject. Finally, Anthea gave up her fight against her exhaustion and fell asleep on Molly’s shoulder. 

***

Their destination was actually a private spa retreat in Wales. The two women were immediately given a couple’s massage and were then shown their room. Their room contained a hot tub that could easily fit five people. Their bed too was large and had been decorated with rose petals in the shape of a heart. 

A bottle of chilled champagne and dinner was waiting for them as they entered the room. They decided to eat their dinner in the accommodating tub. It was a pasta dinner and the two attempted to share the same noodle, and a subsequent kiss, only to drop the plate accidentally into the bubbling water. 

They both began giggling uncontrollably as they attempted to gather the wet noodles. They ordered dessert and ate it as they curled together on the large bed and watched a movie. 

Still tired from the strenuous activities of her occupation, Anthea fell asleep halfway through the movie. Molly smiled at the woman as she typed out a message on her mobile.

Thank you for this. - M. H.

It was no trouble. You and Anthea have been under some strain lately. Besides, it is your anniversary. You both can stay as long as you like. We are paying for all of your expenses. - MH

We? - M.H.

Sherlock, Dr. Watson, Gregory, and I. We all wanted to treat you. Gregory and Dr. Watson made the suggestion. Sherlock and I are paying for it. :) - MH

Well, tell them all thank you from us. We will stay for a few days, I think. She is exhausted and needs to recover. Can you not start another world war over the next few days? - M.H.

I am perfectly capable of managing for a short time period. However, I cannot make any promises. Have fun and happy anniversary. You two deserve it. - MH

Molly closed the mobile and kissed Anthea’s forehead before too drifting off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	127. Vengeance (Anthoopher)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I am sorry about not posting yesterday. I'll try to make up for it. :) I did not feel up to writing yesterday, but I am a bit better now and I will try to post another part either tonight or tomorrow. Thank you all for the support and the the understanding.
> 
> Enjoy.

Molly Hooper was not a person who become vengeful. Well, not usually. When her loved ones were threatened, however, she became an unstoppable force. 

Molly strode into the hospital waiting room, searching for...Ah. Sherlock and John was in the corner, talking with one of the doctors. Molly approached them silently.

“How is she, John?” She asked as the other doctor left. She looked tired to John; she had been crying; now, however, her nerves seemed to have hardened. He knew the look in her eye; he had seen it in his own several times, just before committing actions that were not necessarily legal.

“She’s stable. The bullet missed her heart and major arteries. She’s out of surgery, if you want to see her. She should be waking up tomorrow, judging by the anesthesia and pain medications that the doctor listed.”

Molly narrowed her eyes at John, then turned them to Sherlock, a silent agreement forming between them. Sherlock quickly suggested that John go get them some coffee. The soldier reluctantly left and Sherlock gave his burner mobile to Molly.

“Mycroft. This is Molly. You have the man, I understand. Leave him for me. I want to have a chat with him before you send him away.” The two agreed on the time and the conversation lapsed into silence until John returned. 

Molly took the cup, downed it in one gulp, and stood. “Thank you, John. Sherlock.” She nodded as she started towards the entrance. John’s strong hand suddenly caught her shoulder, his blue eyes meeting her’s. 

He knew what she was going to do. 

“Be safe. Call us if you need back up. We’ll watch over her.” John pulled Molly into a hug and may or may not have slipped his gun into her purse. Molly stepped backwards, examining the two men.

“I will. Thank you.”

And then, Molly Hooper disappeared into the night, the inconspicuous angel on a warpath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	128. Pierced (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I would like to thank Lion_62 and MyLittleSecret for their wonderful suggestions and comments. I'll post another chapter later tonight. 
> 
> I really like the idea of punk! lock and tattoo! lock, so do not be surprised if I use these as prompts for the next few chapters.
> 
> Enjoy. :) 
> 
> With regards to the song lyrics, they are from "Uma Thurman" by Fall Out Boy. 
> 
> I've included my inspiration for some of the the boys' tattoos below.

"Are you sure you want to do this, John?" Sherlock asked as they dismounted the motorbike in front of the tattoo parlor.

 

John looked first at the store and then at Sherlock. His lover's charcoal-lined eyes were concerned.

 

John simply smiled and pulled his fiancé in for a kiss, feeling the cool silver ball on the other man's tongue.

 

"I'm positive, Sherlock. I want this. It's just a tongue piercing. How bad can it be?" John pecked at the man's cheek. "I should be more worried about your procedure. What are you getting as a tattoo anyway?"

 

Sherlock blushed momentarily before composing his features and running his fingers through his dark hair, the miraculous sunlight landing on the dark blue streaks in his hair. He did not answer John, instead placing his hands in the pockets of his black skinny jeans.

 

John smiled again at the man's sheer adorableness and took Sherlock's hand, kissing his knuckles that were tattooed with music notes that originated from the violin on the inside of his wrist.  

 

Sherlock blushed again, the silver ball on his tongue catching the light when he opened his mouth to protest. He pulled his jacket tighter around his body and opened the door for John. They entered, Sherlock going to the tattoo side of the store and John to the piercing side.

 

***

 

John waited in the seats in the front of the store for his boyfriend. The bar now in his tongue felt strange, but he knew that he would adjust. He ran his fingers over the tattoos on his wrist, two audio waves. One was of his mother saying "I love you"; that was before she had gotten sick, before...

 

The second was of Sherlock saying "I love you. Forever and Always." It was from when he has agreed to marry him. They had pulled it from the video that Mike and Molly had made. He wanted to get a new tattoo, but he needed an idea first.

 

Finally, Sherlock entered the front, a smile on his lips as he paid and tipped his artist.

 

Sherlock finally turned to John, revealing a film that covered his forearm. Under the wrapping was a skull, similar to the one on the mantle at home. Under the skull was a banner with the initials "JHW" and "WSSH". Underneath them were the words "May Nothing But Death Do Us Part" in cursive.

 

John smirked at the man as he took his hand. "You got Fall Out Boy song lyrics tattooed onto your arm?"

 

"Shut up. It was playing on the radio the first time we...you know. Besides, the lyrics are applicable-"

 

John yanked him into a kiss. The metal piercings collided and god, it felt wonderful. They tried to pull away so that they could breathe, only to find that the piercings were entangled.

  
Eventually, after some coordinating, they separated and began giggling. They both put on their helmets and jumped onto the motorbike so that they could go get dinner.

 

***

 

Where are you? - JW

 

Bees. - SH

 

John made his way down the path to the bee farm on the Holmes property, smiling to himself. He had been in London for a month for training for his new job and had only spoken to his boyfriend via mobile.

 

He opened the gate to find his lover removing gear. Sherlock ran to John, his long limbs wrapping around his doctor. The sunlight hit the both of them, the faded green highlights in John's hair coming to life. 

 

John kissed his lover as Sherlock tried to divest him of his leather jacket. When it fell to the ground, he stopped, staring.

 

On John's arm was a honeycomb with the chemical diagram for a honey compound serving as the walls. Under the image itself was "For my bumblebee, Sherlock". John grinned at the younger man as he pulled him into a fierce kiss.

 

"I take it that you like it." John murmured against his mouth. 

 

"I love it and I love you." Sherlock replied as he lowered John to the ground and continued to attack his shirt buttons. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	129. Marks On His Skin (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this is set after Sherlock's return and Mary does not exist. 
> 
> This prompt is brought to you by MyLittleSecret (and Lion_62 by proxy) for a description of John's possible tattoos that subsequently inspired this chapter.
> 
> Please do have an enjoyable time. :)

"John," Sherlock said suddenly from the sofa. "It was the tattoo artist!" 

John smiled at his detective as the man rushed to go call their favorite detective inspector. He grabbed his own mobile to order them some celebratory take-away from Angelo’s.

***

“John,” Sherlock said as he picked over his pasta, his expression in deep thought. “Do you have any tattoos? It seemed to me as if you knew one of the associates of our murderer.”

John tensed and set his fork gently on his plate. “Yes, I do.”

Sherlock’s mind began whirring like a machine as he watched John’s reactions. Tensing in the hands, the rubbing of the neck: Nervous. So the tattoo was private and embarrassing in some manner. It was not on John’s chest or arms. Sherlock had seen him many times, his shirt splayed open as he had to change quickly or in a tank-top during the sudden heat wave.

Where was the tattoo?

Sherlock’s mind began racing as to where is could be. If it was private and had never been seen by Sherlock, where...Oh.

A sudden wave of jealousy his Sherlock. How many women had seen John’s tattoo, wherever it was? How many women had seen how dangerous and...unsuspectingly alluring that doctor could be? Sure, he was attractive in a cute, adorable, old man-wearing-jumpers way, but the thought of women seeing John’s toned muscles when the jumper was removed, seeing the tattoo that probably related to the army, seeing a piece of John that Sherlock had not seen...Sherlock felt ill. He wanted so badly to see it and even more to forget its existence. 

John would never be his. Why fantasize over something that he would likely never see?

“Sherlock, are you in there?” Sherlock snapped out of his thoughts. John was leaning over him. “I said, do you want to see it?”

Sherlock was suddenly at a loss for words; he nodded once and John began removing his jumper and unbuttoning the shirt that was under it. Sherlock’s heart raced faster as each button was unfastened.

Finally, John turned his back to the detective and let the shirt fall to the floor. 

Two wings covered the expanse of John’s back. Sherlock stopped breathing for a moment. They were...beautiful. Simple, but detailed all the same. The wings, at first seeming to be formed by black lines, were actually framed entirely with names.

Sherlock found his fingers tracing the names, one by one. He hadn’t remembered standing or going to John. John stilled under Sherlock’s touch, but turned to speak to the detective after a few more moments of the silence.

“The members of everyone in my squadron that did not make it on that day. They are all on the right wing. Some of them, most of them, did not have families. I wanted to remember them. The left wing is for…”

“Those who you have lost. Those close to you. Those you love” Sherlock murmured as his fingers traced the names of John’s mother, his father, an aunt, a cousin. His fingers finally stilled on John’s scar, the white scar tissue that was covered with a singular name, the one person who was closest to his heart.

“My name is on here.” Sherlock murmured. John again tensed, before relaxing again. Sherlock could feel the man’s pounding pulse under his fingertips. Or maybe it was his own heart. 

“You know what your fall did to me. You know what you meant and how much you mean to me. My therapist said I felt too guilty for your death, for everyone’s death. She recommended that I find a supervised pain, one that meant something instead of...alternatives. It was very cathartic, really. Your name was the first to be inked onto my skin, and you are the first person that was not a tattoo artist to see it. But it doesn’t matter; you are back and it is just skin and ink..” John sighed and turned to Sherlock. 

“John.”

“I don’t want your pity, Sherlock.” John began to slip his shirt over his body.

“I love you, too.” Sherlock whispered. 

John’s eyes searched Sherlock’s for a moment, looking for something: love or lies? In either case, he stepped towards the detective and pulled him into a sweet but powerful kiss, one that embodied the character of John Watson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	130. Koby (Mystrade) (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank sher_locked_22 for this prompt idea:  
> (https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/36/90/f8/3690f89f56bd458580aa192f7d7f499b.jpg).
> 
> I introduce to you: a new character!
> 
> Enjoy!

“Gregory?” Mycroft found Greg sitting on their bed, in the dark. 

He stared at the ceiling, clutching a letter to his chest. Mycroft slowly approached him crawled onto the bed, curling into his side. Greg did not move; he seemed to be in a trance.

“She’s gone.” He murmured after a long silence. “My former wife...she passed away. And she never told me…” Greg’s voice went silent as his mind wandered. Mycroft patiently waited for his boyfriend to continue.

“I have a daughter. A five-year old daughter...I am a father.” Greg finally looked at Mycroft, his eyes both sad and hopeful. “Mycroft, I am here only family. Is it okay…”

Mycroft smiled at his boyfriend and finished his thought with an “of course, my love”.

***

“Koby, come back here!” Greg called as his daughter ran down the pavement, towards the Scotland Yard. Greg had unexpectedly been called into work and he needed to find an inspector to cover his shift until Mycroft returned home.

“You’re so slow, Gregory!” She called, her brown eyes glinting and her long blond hair getting in her eyes. 

“I’ve told you for the hundredth time: call me dad or father. You sound like Myc when you call me that.” He grinned as he opened the door for his daughter. She skipped happily inside, but stuck her tongue out at Sally and Anderson upon seeing them.

Greg hurried them to his office, only to find Sherlock Holmes sitting at his desk. An idea suddenly hit him. He dropped to a knee so that he could speak with his daughter. 

“Oh good. Koby, Uncle Sherlock is here. He’s going to stay with you so that he can be put onto another case. Is that okay?” The girl nodded and Greg stood, approaching an angry Sherlock.

“I am not a babysitter. Why are you leaving me with a child?” Sherlock hissed. 

“You should know what to do. I am new to this whole parenting thing. Besides, you have a child.” 

“I stand my point.” Sherlock sighed.

“I will be fifteen minutes at most. Please do not destroy anything.” And with that, the detective inspector left his office, leaving the detective subject to the five-year old child.

***

After some debate, Greg was able to secure the next few days off in exchange for taking the night shift. He returned to his office with his shoulders significantly lighter, only to find a strange sight.

The detective had ponytails in his dark curls and was braiding Koby’s hair. He was doing an excellent job, actually. 

“So, what did my brother tell you to keep a secret again?” Sherlock asked as his eyes glanced at Greg but did not alert the child to his presence.

“He wants to marry my father. Myc said that I could be the flower girl if I keep it a secret. He said he was going to hide it in the drinks at their anniversary party.” The child clapped happily. “There is going to be cake. I am so excited.”

Greg silently closed the door, knocked on it, and opened it again. The child immediately stopped talking of the secret plans, though Sherlock smirked slightly as he tied the end of the child’s braid. “There you are, my Koby.” He lifted the child into the air, then handed her to Greg.

“I assume that you will be returning home.” Sherlock smiled slightly, as if in on an untold joke. “Have fun at your anniversary party tomorrow.”

Greg blushed and thanked the detective before gathering the papers that he needed and walking out of the Scotland Yard with his daughter sitting on his shoulders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	131. Terror (Mystrade)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I would like to thank MyLittleSecret for the prompt inspirations. I changed the prompt a bit.
> 
> Enjoy.

Sherlock and Greg had been working nonstop. The week had been rough; five children had vanished without a trace and the two men had worked diligently to try to find a suspect. Despite their efforts, however, the children were still disappearing. 

***

Greg brought his hand down on his desk, cursing his frustration. Why was there no suspect yet? Even with Sherlock, this person was being proven to be calculating and a large problem.

He was in the home office, the clock reading three in the morning when Mycroft entered. 

“Gregory. You need to sleep; you can think better if you have a few hours. You’ve been awake for days.”

Greg finished the remnants of his fifth coffee cup that day (it was only three in the morning) and turned to his loving husband. “Myc, you know I can’t. This person is still out there. With Mira and now Koby, I can’t take any of those chances. There is always a chance that it could be-” Tears began to form in the man’s eyes. 

Mycroft stepped forward to press his lips gently to his husband’s. “You are not going to be of any help if you faint from exhaustion. Now, bed.” Greg sighed and followed his husband to their bedroom.

That night, Mycroft held Greg. The man, though unaware of it, had night terrors and Mycroft could thus infer what was a cause of trouble for his love. These particular terrors, however, needed no explanation; the panicked sobs in the darkness of their daughter’s name was enough of a clue. Mycroft’s touch calmed the man, but only for so much. Mycroft began to hope that the kidnapper would be brought-

Suddenly, Greg’s mobile beeped.

We have him. Come to Baker Street to make the arrest. - SH

Mycroft breathed a sigh of relief, texted Anthea to handle things, and too tried to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	132. Caught (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this is a bit rushed. It is late and I am exhausted. (And I really hate the AP tests at the moment. I have to retake one due to a testing irregularity.)
> 
> As requested, I have continued the scene from yesterday.
> 
> Enjoy.

Sherlock was exhausted. His eyes blurred as he tried to read through several papers. John entered the room and pressed a kiss to his forehead, the soldier having just put their daughter to bed.

“Any breakthroughs?” He whispered as he moved to make tea for the both of them.

“No. He has a pattern; he should be going after his next victim tonight. I just cannot make any reason from his actions. The children do not seem to be connected, other than that they were adopted recently. Anastara, Brickswater, Bridge, Cornille, Custard…” 

Sherlock paused for a moment as something clicked in his mind. “He has a list. They are alphabetical.” Sherlock moved to find the paper of all recent adoptions, quickly finding the names on the list. 

“He only goes after children who are under the age of five. He’s gone up to here, so his next victim should be…” The paper fell from his hands as his eyes met John’s. If Sherlock had not been listening closely, he would have thought the noise to be the wind, and not the sound of shoes on the floorboards. “Go. Upstairs. Now. You get your gun. I’ll get Mira.”

John quickly found his gun and followed the detective upstairs.

***

The scuffle was brief, but the man put up a fight. Sherlock called Scotland Yard and held a startled Mira while John handled the man. Sherlock had to distract her so that she would not hear the kidnapper’s screams or pleas for mercy as John tried to interrogate the man.

Finally, Scotland Yard arrived and Sherlock sent a text to Lestrade. He wanted Gregory to have the honor of bringing the man into custody. Still, the officers took the statements from the two men and John gave them the address for the location of the children. 

By dawn, all of the children had been admitted into the hospital and had been reunited with all of their parents. They were all safe. 

***

The small family slept in the same room after the ordeal. Mira’s room was still being examined for evidence, so the soldier, detective, and their toddling daughter retired to the men’s bed. 

Mira laid curled Sherlock’s chest, her black curls tickling his nose whenever she shifted, and John faced his detective, watching as the stress melted from the younger man’s features. 

All of them were exhausted, but none so much as Sherlock, the man who worked tirelessly to protect the ones he loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	133. Torrent (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this got a lot darker than expected. I gave you borderline-murderous! John. The criminal basically gets what was coming to him.
> 
> This is a continuation from the previous two chapters and I must add some trigger warnings. Sorry for so many of them.
> 
> Warning: Depictions of Violence, Harsh Language, Blood, Brief Mentions of Rape/Child Abuse, Scary and Violent John Watson
> 
> Enjoy? 
> 
> *I love all of you for your support, but I will not be going on a hiatus. There are just some days where I get really tired. You understand, right?
> 
> *SHAMELESS SELF-PROMOTION: I do not know how many of you are subscribed users, but I finished a fic called Drugged Watson Wednesday, if any of you are interested. It is finished, for the moment, but I can continue it if I had a few suggestions. Thank you!

John closed the door as Sherlock hurriedly left the room. The soldier turned the lock and approached the man who laid on the floor, dazed from John talking him to the ground and restraining his arms with the belt from Sherlock’s house coat. 

John approached the man, nudging his ribs with a hard-steel boot toe. He knelt down beside the man, and then, thinking, movie to play start the record player that he and Sherlock had installed in Mira’s room. He placed the needle on the vinyl and the sweet orchestra of one of Bach’s many pieces filled the room.

The soldier then moved towards the man, pulling him into a kneeling position by yanking the suspect’s hair. John again took his place by the criminal, tightening his grip on the man’s follicles.

The man whimpered and John smirked. “Now, you are going to tell me where those children are. If you do, I just might let you live.” The suspect said nothing. He simply looked at the ground.

John sighed and turned off the baby monitor, moving to Mira’s crib. He and Sherlock were using the space under her bed as storage. Finally, he found what his prize: his old army training rifle. The weapon was simply wood that was carved in the shape of a gun.

He could do more than enough damage. 

“So, you are going to make this hard on yourself, aren’t you? I swear,” John approached the man again, hitting him in the shoulder with the butt of the rifle. “You criminals have not self-preservation. Why did you do it, then?”

The man remained silent, but his shoulders slumped and his eyes betrayed guilt. 

John was a bit shocked at the thought. This man had been kidnapping the children, assaulting-

An anger and protectiveness flowed through his veins as he swung the rifle, bringing it into contact with the man’s nose. The man sputtered and fell forward, blood staining the carpet.

“Please, stop.” He coughed as the blood ran down his throat. John simply smiled at the man’s struggles. He lifted him and dragged him to the window, holding the suspect out of it, his upper body dangling on the window’s ledge. “Please, don’t. I’ll tell you anything. You wouldn’t want to kill-”

John slapped the man, then narrowed his eyes at the criminal. Sirens could be heard in the distance. “I’ve killed people for a lot less and without guilt, without remorse, and without mercy. You were going to hurt, to-. That is my daughter down there and I will do anything, and I mean anything, to protect her. Any threat to a child is taken personally because the next victim could be her. So, any threat, any sick bastard like you, that I can remove from this world will be handled accordingly. Now, you have a minute and twenty seconds before the Scotland Yard arrives. Do you want them to find you alive or do you want them to pick up your body from the pavement.” 

The man began to struggled, but John held onto the man, his grip like iron. Finally, the man sobbed out an address, blood and tears mixing. John smiled and let the man fall to the floor, opening the door and moving the rug to cover the bloodstains on the carpet. He had just his his rifle back under the bed when the Scotland Yard entered. 

The criminal began sobbing happily as the officers placed cuffs on him. At least in a cell, he was safe from the torrent of John Watson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	134. At the Warehouse (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this is not exactly what was suggested, but here you go. :)
> 
> Thank you to Lion_62 and to MyLittleSecret for the *coughs* very detailed suggestions. 
> 
> Enjoy.

John. Why was John there?

Sherlock's head swam as he tried to get his bearings. Warehouse. They were in a warehouse by the Thames. God, it smelled terrible. 

Stinging in his arm. Needle. He had been drugged. Ugh, his mind felt so slow. He couldn't focus. He felt as if he had been hit by a lorry. 

John. John was surrounded by four men. They were large and dammit, he couldn't deduce them. He was so tired; his head ached. 

John needed to escape. The men had weapons and John needed to escape, to go get help. They were going to kill him. 

"John, go!" Sherlock managed to whimper. John turned towards him, winking. Sherlock saw him murmur something. "Vatican Cameos"?

Sherlock could not take his eyes off of John as he ducked under the arm of one man, taking it along the way and snapping it out of its socket. John smirked as the man screamed. He took the pipe that had been in the man's hand and quickly brought down two of the other men. Finally, he delivered a swift punch and kick to the last man's face. The four men laid there, some unconscious and some whimpering. 

John quickly tied them up with the rope that they had used to restrain Sherlock. 

Finally, he turned his attention to his partner, concern all over his face. He untied the detective and rubbed the man's wrists and ankles to return circulation to them. 

Sherlock's heart thumped quickly under the doctor's fingers and God, that had been sexy. Sherlock pulled his doctor into a crushing kiss, only to have the doctor push him away. 

"Sherlock." He said sternly. "Now is not the time. I need to make sure you are alright. Besides, Greg will be here soon." Sherlock frowned and let the doctor examine him, though he did try three times to remove the man's jumper, his advances growing more forceful with each rejection. 

By the time Greg and the Yard arrived, Sherlock was straddling the doctor, who was now restrained with duct tape. 

"What is the freak doing?" Donovan whispered at Anderson and Greg. 

Greg rolled his eyes as Anderson snickered. "That, Sally, is the mating ritual of our lovely detective. If you don't stop calling him a freak, I will make you and Anderson watch it in its entirety. I have enough footage of them at it like rabbits on your desks, I am sad to say." Greg chuckled as the two officers paled. 

They quickly apologized and Greg went to free John. 

***

With some reluctance, the detective allowed himself to be checked out by an ambulance technician and, once cleared, the two men left the scene, ready to bed each other in the cab. 

The criminals looked shocked and relieved at the DI. 

"Are they always like that?" One of them whispered with widened eyes. 

"Yeah. You don't know how many warnings and tickets I've had to give them for public indecency." The DI sighed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	135. A Chance (Hangelo)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As requested, some teen! Hangelo for your souls. I like to think of Angelo as being a young Greaser and that they are both in high school, though this is not mentioned. 
> 
> Thank you again to the Motivation Squad of Lion_62 and MyLittleSecret for suggesting this. 
> 
> Enjoy.

Martha checked her appearance in the reflection of the window beside the house's door. Angelo's house. 

This had all come out of the blue, him asking her out. One moment, she was crying on Angelo's shoulder- she had broken up with Derek Hudson. He was a cheating bastard who deserved the black eye that she had given him. - and the next, he had asked her to go on a date with him, a nice dinner at his house. 

So, here she was, in her best dress and curls and red lipstick, giving her best friend a shot. 

With a moment of hesitation, she knocked. The door swung open to reveal Angelo: the burly body of tattoos and spikes and piercings, in a cupcake apron. His face and hands were covered with flour. He kissed her on the cheek and ushered her inside. 

***

They sat at a small kitchen table as Angelo bustled around the kitchen. He seemed nervous. A smoke alarm sounded through the awkward silence. 

Finally, Martha sighed and grabbed a flannel, waving the smoke from the alarm. "Angelo, let me help before you set this place on fire." She smiled at him and he tossed her an apron. 

They had already made spaghetti that looked delicious, but Angelo had been trying to make biscuits to go with their tea and it just wasn't working. Martha pulled up her sleeves and showed him how to make the sweet treats, though they ended up eating most of the batter.

With the biscuits in the oven, they ate the pasta and then proceeded to clean the kitchen. Well, until Martha found the remnants of the flour within the bowl and pressed it onto Angelo's nose. 

He laughed and returned the gesture. Martha found some sugar and threw it in his face and they continued throwing the ingredients at each other until a larger mess than what they had originally created was present. 

And they stood there, surveying the damage, the flour and sugar and other powders that spanned across the kitchen, all over their clothing and bodies. They grinned foolishly at each other, happily. 

Then, as the timer on the oven beeped, they broke from their trance and Martha stepped forward, pulling Angelo into a chaste but fierce kiss. 

"Martha, please say that you won't go back to him." Angelo murmured as he took her hand and kissed it. "He doesn't deserve you. I don't care if you don't want to be with me; I want you to be happy and respected. Derek, he is-"

Martha kissed the man again, trying to make her point clear. "Angelo, I like you too."

Then, they both grinned at each other once more and shared a long kiss that led them to the sofa in the living room. 

A few hours later, they laid under a blanket, their bodies as close as humanly possible, munching on extremely burnt biscuits with their tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	136. Derek (Hangelo)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is not exactly as what was suggested, but I like the way that it ended. 
> 
> Thank you to Lion_62 for the suggestion. 
> 
> Enjoy. :)

The locker door startled Martha as it slammed shut. The books fell from her arms with the force, but she did not pick them up. She did not want to bow to him.

Derek aka Derek the D*ck Hudson had one hand splayed on the locker door and the other on his hip. 

"How's my favorite doll? C'mon babe, when are you going to come crawling back to me? I miss you." His eyes were covered with a pair of shades and Martha knew that his eye was still bruised from their last altercation. 

"You know, Derek, women do not exist for your personal enjoyment. And I won't. I am in a relationship with a man whom I actually love." Martha's eyes narrowed at the man as he further invaded her personal space. 

"You're just playing hard to get. There ain't nobody who loves you like I do, babe." And suddenly, his lips were on hers. He tasted like beer, which explained so much, and he was too forceful. His hands pinned her wrists to the lockers. And then, he was on the ground, squealing two octaves higher in pain. 

Martha wiped her mouth in disgust and delivered another "accidental" kick to the man's groin. 

"Your dad is forcing you to marry me." He called as she walked away. "Your parents are broke, so my father offered yours a promotion if you marry me. They were going to tell you tonight. I'll still take you, my little shrew. I love a challenge."

Martha was able to keep a neutral face until she rounded the corner of the hallway. Then she started running for the school's entrance, tears streaming down her face. 

***

Angelo watched from a distance and, as he gathered Martha's forgotten books, began planning. He then went to find the woman he loved. 

*** 

Martha was on Angelo's sofa, sobbing into his Union Jack pillow. Angelo silently went to her side after he placed her items on the side table. She fell into his arms.

After a long silence, she spoke. "I love you, not him. I want to marry you, but my parents...I can't. I do not know what to do."

"Run away with me." Angelo murmured. "We graduate in a few weeks. We can go to London, open a restaurant. Marry me, if you want. I love you and I can't see you suffer at his hands. You are so strong- you proved that today. I bet he won't be able to reproduce.- but he would only make you suffer until you break and you deserve so much better."

"Yes. To everything." Martha murmured into his chest. 

***

That night, as Martha lay asleep in Angelo's bed, the man sought his revenge. By the time the sun rose, Angelo was back in bed, cradling the woman he loved, whilst Derek, poor Derek the D*ck, had no d*ck to call his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	137. Silver (Mystrade) (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I returned from school to find my inbox full...I am both delighted and slightly worried. 
> 
> Thank you to my wonderful motivation squad for today's prompt. :)
> 
> Enjoy.

The Yard, with the urging of Mycroft, had decided to throw their favorite Detective Inspector a birthday party. 

They all sang "Happy Birthday", well, everyone except for Sherlock, who simply retreated into his mind palace because he may or may not have forgotten the words. 

"Happy 50th Birthday, boss," said a few of the officers in unison. Greg gave them a confused look as he cut the cake and put two slices on a plate for him and Mycroft.

"Guys, what made you think that I was 50? Do I really look that old?" He turned to Mycroft, who simply smiled wearily. They had this conversation many times. Greg, however, grew more agitated. "For Pete's sake, I am younger than John. I'm only 38."

The partygoers all suddenly went silent. "Is it the hair? Or has this job absorbed the best years of my life? Oh, fuck it." And then Greg stood and marched out of the room. 

"So, Mr. Holmes is the older one?" Sally said. "How old is he?"

Everyone looked to Sherlock, who froze. 

"You deleted how old he is, didn't you?" John asked. 

"I may have misplaced it. All I know is that he is old enough to be Sally's grandfather and that he has to choose between climbing the stairs and shagging Lestrade. He's too old to do both within the same week." And Sherlock began rambling as Mycroft blushed before leaving the room. Sherlock and John followed him. 

Greg made it to the end of the hallway before falling to his knees. Mycroft approached the man cautiously, placing a soothing hand on his back. Greg reached for Mycroft and fell into his arms. Mycroft stroked the man's hair, soothing him. 

"Gregory. I do not care how old you look; I still think that you are the most gorgeous man that I have ever met. I love you, you silver fox."

"Besides, you have what, twelve more years than everyone thought you had? That's twelve more years together with my brother. Maybe if you keep shagging him into your seventies, you'll be able to find the stick that is up his arse." Sherlock delivered his speech as John tried to put a hand over his mouth and drag him away. 

Greg began laughing uncontrollably, because what can one do in one of those situations but laugh? Mycroft narrowed his eyes at his brother but a smiled played on his lips. Mycroft then kissed Greg on the forehead. 

"Let's go back to the party, my love. I might even eat a slice or two of your cake. It is your birthday." Greg smiled at Mycroft and the men all returned to the party. 

***

That night, Greg and Mycroft stared into each other's eyes, blissful and relaxed, sharing lazy kisses. 

"Gregory, I am glad that you are not older. One, I have always favored younger men. There was once this lovely ambassador from Ecuador. He had the loveliest behind. Any way, the second point is that I have so much more time to spend with you, as my brother said so colorfully." Mycroft whispered as he placed his ear over Greg's heart. 

"Yeah, the only thing up your arse is me." Greg replied. "For now and forever." 

The men both giggled and grinned at each other. "But really," Greg whispered. "I've been thinking. I do not want to spend my life with anyone else, Myc. I want us to grow older together. So, will you marry me? If not, I understand. As long as I can be-"

Suddenly, Mycroft was straddling his boyfriend, kissing him fiercely. "Yes. The answer is yes. I will marry you." He whispered. 

Greg returned the kiss with fervor and the two men settled for their second round that night. 

***

"So, tell me again why your brother is sending us to France?" John asked as he reread the letter that had come with the bouquet of poisonous flowers, upon which Sherlock was currently experimenting. 

"The Catacombs, John! For our anniversary of our meeting. All on Mycroft's expense. Can you pack my bag, John? This is fascinating."

John sighed and grinned at his detective and went to go pack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	138. Captured (Mira and Koby) (Johnlock) (Mystrade)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so this was suggested by MyLittleSecret some time ago. Thank you for the prompt. 
> 
> This story arc became a lot longer than I expected, so I am breaking it up into two posts. This is the first installment. 
> 
> Enjoy. :)
> 
> *Hiss* I have an email now, if anyone wants to email me suggestions or simply wants to talk. It is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com.

“C’’mon Mira. We are going to miss the party entirely. I will leave without you.” Koby hissed as Mira grabbed her purse and ran her fingers through her black tendrils with one last glance in the mirror. As a last minute thought, she grabbed an umbrella that her fathers had given her and made her way to the fire escape.

The teens made their way to the fire escape, their black clothing only illuminated by the lights of passing cabs on their metallic spikes. They quickly reached the ground level and waited on the curb for a cab. 

It was midnight and very few cabs were out. They debated about whether to walk to the party; it was about ten blocks, but the sky looked as if it were about to rain.

“And where do you girls think that you are going?” said a familiar voice behind them. They turned to see Sherlock, holding a cigarette in his hands.

“And what do you think you’re doing?” Mira retorted. “You told dad that you quit years ago.”

“This current case has been very hard, Mira. Someone has been kidnapping unsuspecting girls, girls who happen to be your age. I think I am entitled to one cigarette every five years or so.” Sherlock replied as he dropped the cigarette and crushed it with his shoe. 

“I won’t tell dad if you don’t tell any of them about us.” Mira replied. Two pairs of eyes narrowed at each other until Sherlock sighed in agreement. Mira smiled. “We are going to a party and Chris’s house. We should be back and in bed before dawn. We promise not to drink anything or do any drugs. I have my mobile and I know Uncle Myc have a tracking device in Koby’s molars. I’ll call if we need anything.”

Sherlock nodded in agreement to the conditions and allowed Mira to kiss his cheek as he waved a hand and a cab suddenly materialized. 

***

“I cannot believe that you kissed Chris! In front of Angela too! You did it simply because you could.” Koby giggled as they walked down the darkened street. Their phone batteries had died, but the time was a little past four in the morning. With any luck, they would be able to make it back home before dawn. They still had five blocks to go and their pace was leisurely.

“I know-” Mira turned to Koby, catching a movement behind them out of the corner of her eye. She gripped her umbrella tightly and leaned into whisper into Koby’s ear. “Man, six foot, works in a factory. Has been following us since we left the party, judging by his limp. Late 40’s. I would say it is the kidnapper that my dad has been trying to find. Vatican Cameos.”

Suddenly, Koby began running and Mira went in the other direction. Mira gripped the umbrella by its canvas section and used the handle to attack the man’s faulty leg. She flipped the umbrella in her grip and released the mechanism within the umbrella that revealed a sharp blade in the tip. She also activated the panic button that would immediately alert her fathers and uncles to their location. 

Mira pressed the blade to the man’s jugular whilst Koby returned. She searched through Mira’s coat pocket and found, surprisingly, a set of handcuffs. They rolled the man onto his back and handcuffed him, Mira still holding the blade to his neck.

Koby gave Mira a skeptical look, gesturing at the handcuffs. Mira laughed. “My father always makes me take them with me whenever I go out. He knows that I know how to use them if a man gets too handsy.” The two girls began giggling as they quickly patted the man’s clothing. They found two large knives in his pockets, but decided to wait for the Yard to arrive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	139. On Trial (Mira and Koby) (Johnlock) (Mystrade)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so this was suggested by MyLittleSecret some time ago. Thank you for the prompt. 
> 
> Here it is: the second installment. 
> 
> Enjoy. :)
> 
> *Whistles for your attention* I have an email now, if anyone wants to email me suggestions or simply wants to talk. It is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com.

Soon enough, a black car and a police car arrived at the scene, Lestrade in the police car and three angry fathers in the black car. Lestrade nodded at his daughter and his niece to go to the car while he took the suspected criminal into custody.

The car ride consisted of the three men glaring at the two girls. Anger radiated from the men and the girls wanted to disappear. Finally, Mira spoke. 

“I know you are going to say that we could have gotten hurt or killed,” She grabbed Koby’s hand and squeezed it. “But we did not. We followed the proper protocol of how to handle an attack. We even apprehended that kidnapper that has been stressing father. Look, if you are going to blame someone, blame m-”

“Blame me.” Koby interjected. She and Mira locked eyes for a moment, a silent “I cannot let you get into all of the trouble alone”. “The party was my idea. I take all of the blame for it. Mira just went along to make sure that I did not get into any trouble. I did not even notice the man, so one could say that she saved me. So, if you are going to punish or ground us, I take full responsibility for both of our actions.”

The three men conversed silently, their eyes meeting and focusing on the girls. Finally, Sherlock cleared his throat. “What you two did was a clear violation of the established rules in the both of our houses, but, you are teenagers and you are allowed to make mistakes. I’ve made far worse in my lifetime. What matters is that you are both safe. You handled that situation well, in my opinion, but we have concluded that, for your punishment, you will have to take a few self-defense classes with the four of us. Practicing our defense skills could be beneficial to all of us. I am sure Anthea would be more than willing.” Sherlock glanced at his brother, who nodded and gestured at his mobile. 

“There. But no more parties without our permission, okay?” John sighed. “We worry about you two. Please do not give us heart attacks like that. When the alert went off on my mobile and when I did not see either of you…My heart has already stopped enough for a lifetime.”

The girls nodded silently, accepting the terms. Then, everyone broke into a large grin, especially Sherlock. 

“You were absolutely brilliant, my dears. Brilliant.” He grinned as he went on to explain the case to a weary John for the remainder of the car ride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	140. Popular (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank Whispering Storyteller for suggesting this prompt via email. :)
> 
> So...here is a bit of teen!lock for your souls.
> 
> Enjoy. :)
> 
> *Throws pebbles at your window* If you didn't get it yet, my email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com.
> 
> I am going to put my email in every chapter onwards from now, so I am just letting you know.

Sherlock took a breath before he faced the onslaught. Just walk through the hallways. Do not make eye contact. Avoid touching anyone. Do not give them any hope. 

Classes had just been released and, as usual, a group of girls and boys who should have been studying for their A-levels waited for him at the school's entrance.

They always fawned over him, over his looks, his body. As was usual, he walked out of the building, trying to avoid the swarm of the people. 

Suddenly, he felt a firm hand on his shoulder. He turned as his foot hit a stair. He stumbled and fell backwards, his fall only lessened by the pull of the stranger's hand in his shirt. The stranger, however, fell forward with the teenager and landed in his chest. 

John Watson. John Watson was pressed to his chest, was helping him stand and smiling at him. John Watson was tough, a punk, but he was more intelligent than their entire class combined. Sherlock was at the top of the class and John was close behind him. Everyone else paled in comparison. 

"You left your violin case." John said as they brushed the dirt off of their clothing and as he handed the valued item to Sherlock. The crowd tried to swarm the two teens, but John simply glared at them and they dispersed. 

"Thank you." Sherlock murmured as he looked at his feet. "I apologize. I was trying to get through the crowd. I left the case on accident and I did not mean to cause you to fall."

"It is fine. It is all fine." John smiled as he scratched at his neck. Sherlock noticed the slight hint of a tattoo. His mouth went dry for a moment as he examined the man. He was attractive. Very attractive. Why had Sherlock not noticed him earlier?

"Hey, why do they wait for you everyday? Do they know that you are not interested?" John asked as he and Sherlock began walking off of the campus. 

"I'm not interested in any of them, but as long as I am 'single', as they call it." Sherlock looked at his feet on the pavement as they walked. Why was he suddenly so shy?

"Well, are you interested in anyone? It is fine if you aren't. If you are, tell that person. You'll be able to avoid the crowd if they know that you are taken and you might even form a decent relationship with that person." John too was looking at the ground, Sherlock noticed. Strange. 

Today was strange. He was talking with John as if they had been friends for years. He felt comfortable with someone, for once. He smiled at John, his pale eyes meeting startled blue ones. "Are you interested, John?"

John stopped, about to object, when Sherlock took his hand and kissed it gently. "It's fine. I mean, if you want to. You were able to clear the crowd and you saved me. I am comfortable around you, something that is very rare. So, assuming that we are on the same page, will you go on a date with me on Saturday?"

John smiled and blushed, suddenly at a loss for words. He ran his fingers through his green hair, think in for a moment, before nodding in agreement. 

***

Three months later, Sherlock again took a breath before stepping into the hallways. He navigated his way to the entrance; he still caught the eyes of some students who could not get the message. 

Soon, however, he was on the stairs, searching the crowd of students for...

Suddenly, he felt a pair of strong arms around his waist and lips on his ear. 

"Hello, my dear," John whispered as Sherlock turned in his arms and kissed him gently. 

"Hello, John. Let's go. My parents and brother will not be home for dinner. We can use the large television to watch those James Bond movies." 

Sherlock took John's hand and the two practically ran back to Sherlock's house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	141. If Only (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this idea just popped into my head in the middle of my health class...I promise I will do some of the previous suggestions tomorrow. 
> 
> In this scene, please assume that neither man has confessed his feelings for the other yet. 
> 
> Enjoy. :)

The world's only consulting detective was not in the flat when John returned from his medical conference. He was not in the kitchen nor was he on the sofa. John felt his heart rate increase as he approached the door to Sherlock's room. 

It was too risky. He could come back at any moment. Then how would John explain himself?

Still, John could not stop himself. He had not seen the detective in days and, though he did not want to admit it, he had missed Sherlock, had missed his best friend. 

Quickly but quietly, John crept into Sherlock's room. The bed, as usual, was unmade. The detective's notes and laptop were on the side table and his reading glasses were on one of the pillows. Reverently, he ran his fingers over the sheets, the pillow. Then, his face was buried in the fabric. He wrapped himself in the sheets, burying his face further into the pillows and the mattress. 

It smelled like Sherlock, like comfort, like home. He was surrounded by the scent of the detective, his detective. 

John quickly felt the weariness of his travels overtake him. 

"If only he knew..." He thought sadly before finally letting the sleep overtake him. 

***

Sherlock heard a noise, the sound of a door. He raised his head; he was still groggy from his nap. Well, he had slept for longer than he had planned, he thought, as he examined the clock. 

Sherlock waited for John to arrive, to find Sherlock in his bed, but the doctor never entered the room. Sherlock sighed and buried his face once more into John's pillow. 

Sherlock always slept in John's bed when the man was gone; it was a comfort and his mind was able to calm itself long enough for his body to slip into its sleep cycle. 

Sherlock again felt the lull of John's scent, his eyelids fluttering shut as he was pulled once again into his dreams. 

If only he knew...

***

John awoke from his unexpected nap and quickly checked his mobile for messages. He hadn't heard Sherlock and the hour was rather late, even for the detective. 

Where are you? Is there a case? - JW

Sherlock was awoken by the buzz of his mobile. Without thinking, he typed a message. 

No. I'm in your room. Where are you? - SH

In your room. Meet me in the kitchen. I'll make tea. - JW

***

The two men stared at each other across the table. Their hair and faces showed signs of sleep, but they smiled at each other warmly. 

"So." John said as he set his tea on the table. "Did you miss me?"

Sherlock was suddenly by John's side, his eyes searching for...something. 

"Did you miss me?" Sherlock murmured. John suddenly wrapped his arms around the detective's waist. 

"Yes." They breathed at the same moment as their eyes locked. The detective returned the embrace and they simply stood in the kitchen's center, swaying in each other's arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	142. Father (Mystrade)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I spent some time with my dad today and this just popped into my head.
> 
> Enjoy. :)

The thunder of a storm resounded throughout Mycroft's study. He sighed as he glanced at the clock. Two in the morning. 

The storm had been raging for hours and, of course, someone decided to murder another person in the middle of it. Gregory had left hours earlier and Mycroft did not expect him back any time soon. 

With the storm raging, Mycroft hoped that Koby was sleeping peacefully. She had only been with them for a month and, while Greg had some idea of how to connect with the child, Mycroft had no idea. He only had minimal experience with his niece and that was extremely minimal. He had no clue how to be a father. 

Another flash of lightning pulled the man from his thoughts. Thunder shook the walls and a small whimper came from the door. 

Koby stood in the doorway, clutching one of her stuffed animals, a dinosaur. She had a blanket wrapped over her head and shoulders, as if the storm would not be able to see her if she could not see it. 

"Hey Koby," Mycroft smiled as he stood from his chair. He knelt beside the child. "Did the storm wake you?" The child nodded once. "Do you not like storms?" The child nodded again and pointed to her stomach. 

"Storms make me want to be sick." She whispered. Anxious then, Mycroft noticed. He too had suffered from severe worry during thunderstorms as a child. His older cousin had told him that it was the monsters coming after him. Sure, he knew that it was false, but the uneasiness with storms was still present, even in his adult psyche. 

Another wave of thunder rolled over the home and the child ran to Mycroft's arms. He tried to sooth her; he rubbed circles on her back, then lifted her gently. 

"C'mon. Let's get you back into bed, okay? I'll stay with you until you fall asleep." The child slowly nodded and he carried her to her room. 

"I miss mother." She whispered as Mycroft tucked her into bed and browsed some of her storybooks so that he could read her to sleep. That's what his mother had done on stormy nights. 

Then Mycroft remembered. This child had just lost her mother. Her mother had been dead for a month and she had been uprooted into a new life, a new school, a new everything. And, if he recalled correctly, the night had also been similar to this one when Gregory had received the call. 

Mycroft sat on the bed beside her, laying on top of the duvet, and she rested her head over his heart. He gently stroked her cheek. He had seen Gregory using this technique to soothe her to sleep in the first few days of her being there. 

"You miss her, don't you?" Mycroft whispered. 

"Why did she have to leave?" She asked suddenly as she buried her face in his chest. "She said that she would protect me from the monsters and then she went away. Then the mean doctors said that I wouldn't see her again. Where did she go? I want to see her. I want her to braid my hair and take me for ice cream and play dress up and read to me when I have bad dreams and watch movies together. I want her to say that she loves me again." Mycroft felt warm tears on his shirt and he gently ran his fingers through her hair. 

"My father went away too." Mycroft murmured. "I was a few years older than you, but it still hurt. My father was my best friend, and then he went away. A mean man took him from me and from my family. I missed him terribly; I wanted him to come home so badly. But he never did. People will sometimes go away forever, Koby. Sometimes they are close to you and sometimes they are strangers. It cannot be helped. But you know what you can do? You can keep moving, keep living. Because that is what your mother would have wanted, right? She wanted you to make friends and fall in love and be who you want to be."

"But I don't want to fall in love." The child murmured. "It sounds icky. One of my friends tried to kiss a boy on the playground and then he got cooties. You and Gregory share cooties too." 

"One day, you won't mind them." Mycroft smiled at the child. "In fact, I'll tell you a secret of you can keep it." The child's head suddenly popped up, suddenly interested. 

"I love your father very much and I want to marry him. I was wondering if you would want to help me propose."

"Tell him 'rawr'," the child interjected as she grabbed her stuffed dinosaur. "It means 'I love you' in dinosaur."

Mycroft smiled at the child and then explained his plan. They debated the plan for a long time; by the time it had finished, the storm had subsided. The child quickly drifted off to sleep and Mycroft gently removed himself from the child's bed. 

Just as he was about to leave and turn off the lights, he heard her small voice. "Thank you, Mycroft. Rawr."

"Rawr to you too. Goodnight, Koby." Mycroft whispered as he gently shut the door. He smiled to himself. 

Maybe this "father" idea was not as bad as he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	143. Comfort (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to MyriadProBold for the prompt suggestion and thank you to Lion_62 and MyLittleSecret for helping me to decide Sherlock's secret.
> 
> Enjoy. :)
> 
> (My laptop decided to delete half of this when I was writing it. I tried to retype it the best I could. if it doesn't make sense in some parts, please tell me.)

John sighed as he entered the flat. Work had been exhausting and he simply wanted to relax. 

Sherlock was out on a case, but had said that he didn't need John, so John resigned himself to watching the tele or reading a bit. He hadn't read for his own sake in a while and he did not really have any books on hand. 

He walked over to Sherlock's bookshelf - god it needed dusting - and pulled a random volume from the shelf. It was large, but did not seem to be heavy. He sat it on the coffee table and opened it, only to find that the center was hollowed out. 

John looked at the title of the volume, finding "Hamlet" in cursive writing. Of course. The one piece of notable literature in the flat and it is all a sham. 

Still, the contents of the hollowed book seemed interesting. 

Everything appeared to be wrapped in a baby blanket. John was only slightly shocked to find the detective's initials on it. He unwrapped the blanket and set it aside. 

He found what appeared to be a sketch book. The cover was simple. John ran his hand over it before opening the book. 

And finding a sketch of himself. Finding several sketches of himself. All of them, more or less, nude images. There had to be at least fifteen of them. 

Why did someone have nude sketches of him? Where did Sherlock find these sketches? Why did Sherlock have nude sketches of John, wrapped inside a baby blanket, hidden inside a work of Shakespeare?

Did Sherlock have an interest in John? John blushed at the idea. Why would he be hiding them? John had so many questions. 

As if on cue, the door opened and the detective swept into the flat. Upon seeing the sketchbook in John's hands, however, he froze. "John, I can explain. It was for an experiment..."

"They're quite good, you know." John said calmly as he took a step towards the detective. "Does my nose really look like that?"

"They're horrible, John. Just put them away." Sherlock was now blushing as he tried to focus on anything but John.

"If you drew them, it would be fine. It's all fine, you know. I meant it when I said it and I mean it now." John set the book on the coffee table and stepped towards the detective.

“John,” Sherlock began. “I have wanted you for so long, for too long. There are times when you are the only topic on my mind and I have to sketch them in order to think clearly. I want to see you in those situations. Please forgive-” The detective suddenly turned, trying to retreat to the safety of his bedroom. Only, his wrist was gently caught by a strong hand.

“Then why don’t you?” John breathed as his eyes met the detective’s. “I’ve wanted you for a while too; I’ve wanted everything, a relationship, your heart, you. I’m willing to do anything for you, Sherlock.”

Sherlock smiled at John and then gently stroked his jaw. “I guess we are both idiots.”

“We are. But, there is one thing I do not understand. Why do you have a baby blanket?” John murmured as he pulled Sherlock close to him and rested his head on his chest. 

“That book contains all of the things which I find comforting. That sketchbook also has images of just you doing everyday things, too, so I guess one could say that you are my comfort. Since I cannot place you inside a book, images of you are necessary.” 

John smiled at his detective as Sherlock nuzzled his neck. Then, the pair stumbled to the couch, where they cuddled for the remainder of the night. Well, not the entire night. But they stayed there until they retired to Sherlock’s bedroom, where Sherlock was able to see firsthand how accurate his sketches were. 

***

The next day, as Sherlock still lay sleeping in his bed and as John made tea, John slipped an old military photo into Sherlock’s comfort box, as John had named it. 

On the days when the detective was too stressed, all he had to do was wrap himself in his baby blanket and look at the images of John and he would immediately feel a bit better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	144. Scavenger Hunt (Mystrade)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As requested by Harro86, here is the continuation from Chapter 142.
> 
> Thank you the Lion_62 and MyLittleSecret for helping me decide exactly what to do with the proposal.
> 
> Enjoy. :)

Koby clutched the note with her small hand as she led her father down the street. “Mycroft said to go to the barber. There should be another clue.” She said again. They finally reached the barber and Greg quickly got his hair trimmed. Then, the barber handed her a green piece of paper that matched the one that they had found on the kitchen table that morning as Greg paid for his haircut.

Greg knew that Koby had been getting bored. School had just released for the summer and she was becoming restless. So, he was not at all surprised when Mycroft mentioned a scavenger hunt for the two of them. 

“You two will be able to bond,” Mycroft had smiled as he looked up from his book. “I’ll organize it for next Saturday. You can get a few errands accomplished; she can learn her way around London. You two will have an amazing memory for years to come.”

Greg could not say no to any of Mycroft’s ideas, and now he was out of breath as he chased his five-year old around London. “Where you first met,” the child read. “So, the bakery where I first met you and Mycroft?”

And so, the two continued with the journey. It wasn’t even noon.

***

Greg was exhausted. They had been to at least fifteen places, but all of them were memorable places for him and Mycroft. The restaurant where he and Mycroft had their first date. The street where Greg had tried to fend off an attacker of Mycroft and thus sparked their first meeting. The park where Greg had gotten the courage to hold Mycroft’s hand. The street where they first confessed their feelings for each other. 

They were even led to Baker Street, where the men had ultimately become connected through their interactions with Sherlock. They went to see the Holmes-Watson clan, where Mrs. Hudson gave them some biscuits and tea and where John handed Greg a suit that Mycroft had sent. Koby also changed into a new dress and, after speaking with John, Sherlock, Mira, and Mrs. Hudson, the two again departed. 

Finally, they arrived at the London Eye, where Greg and Mycroft had first kissed after a wonderful date as they watched over the bustling city of London. They stepped into the car with a crowd of others. Greg searched for a note, but found nothing. Maybe that had gotten on the wrong car. 

He knelt down to tell Koby, but she instead pointed as the crowd receded and Mycroft stepped forward and took Greg’s hands. 

“Mycroft? What is this?” Mycroft smiled and kissed Greg’s knuckles as he dropped to one knee. 

“Gregory,” Mycroft smiled. “I love you, you know that, correct? I do not tell you enough, but you are my world. Well, you and Koby. You are my solar system and my love expands infinitely for the both of you. You took an iceman and melted him and shaped him with your compassion, your care, your understanding. You have made me a better man and you have taught me how to love, that caring is an advantage. I knew from the moment that you kissed me, here, overlooking London as we are now, that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. My dear Gregory, and you as well, my darling Koby, will you marry me?”

Greg was stunned as he searched Mycroft’s eyes. He only found warmth and love, and his own eyes burned as tears threatened to appear. “Yes,” He half-laughed, half-sobbed. “God yes.” 

He pulled Mycroft from his position on the floor and kissed him as he pulled him close. The people in the car cheered and, suddenly, Greg began to notice them as his family and friends. Sherlock and John and Mira were watching them. Half of the Yard had to be in there too. 

Suddenly, they both felt a tug on their suit trousers. Koby was smiling at them. “For the record, I agree too.” She smiled. Greg lifted her into his arms and both he and Mycroft kissed her cheeks. She giggled and, as soon as she was set back down, went to Mira. The two girls embraced and then went to the window to look at the landscape. 

But the two men paid no mind. They seemed caught in each other’s eyes, neither of them wanting to move, to break the wonderful moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	145. I Told You So (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy. :)

The three of them were exhausted as they entered the flat. John and Sherlock had brought Mira along for a case that they thought would only be about 20 minutes. 

It turned into a four-hour chase through London and three more hours doing paperwork. For dinner, they had snacked on some of the vending machine foods from the Yard, but otherwise they had eaten nothing. Given the hour, not even take-out was available.

Regardless, the four year-old took matters into her own hands. 

She removed her coat and walked quickly to the refrigerator, where she began removing take-away boxes and leftovers from the previous days’ dinners. “It’s okay. I’ve got this,” she called.

Sherlock smiled at her as he opened one of the containers. He was famished and nibbled on one of the cold pieces of...chicken? 

“Daddy! Don’t eat my experiment!” The child exclaimed. 

“Mira, what have we told you about labeling experiments?” John sighed as he took the container from Sherlock and set it on the table, away from the other food. “And Sherlock, spit that out before you give yourself food poisoning.” Sherlock did as he was told while John knelt beside Mira.

“Daddy said that I didn’t need to label my experiments.” Mira’s bottom lip appeared in a pout. She was so adorable that John could not help but smile. John looked pointedly at Sherlock for a moment.

“It’s fine. Just remember to label them in the future. We wouldn’t want any of us to get sick.” The child nodding and found the containers that were not experiments and that John had deemed safe to eat. John went to straighten a few things in the living area.

Ready with the containers, the child pulled a chair from the kitchen table and used it to climb onto the counter so that she could reach the microwave. Sherlock saw her as he turned around and he was instantly at her side, steadying her. 

“What taught you to do this, Mira?” Sherlock asked as John reentered the kitchen area.

“Papa!” Mira exclaimed, thinking that climbing onto the counters was a good thing. Sherlock narrowed his eyes at John before he sat Mira on the ground and began to heat the food in the microwave.

“Mira, it’s dangerous to climb on the counter-tops. We don’t want any of us to get hurt.” He emphasized “any” as he looked at John, who simply rolled his eyes and went to find the plates.

***

A few days later, Sherlock lay ill in bed as his stomach rolled. He had food poisoning from Mira’s little “experiment”. John entered the room with a mug of tea and checked Sherlock’s temperature.

“You have a bit of a fever. I’ll go get you some medicine for that and your stomach. I hate to say this, but I told you so. We need to label experiments, Sherlock.” John flashed Sherlock a quick smile before leaving the room. 

From his room, Sherlock could hear the chair scrape the kitchen tile as John once again climbed onto the counter-top. A large thump was heard a few moments later, then a groan. 

“I told you so! I’ll get you a step-ladder.” Sherlock called from his bedroom, his mood a bit lighter. Mira entered the room then with several tablets and a glass of water. 

“Papa says ‘shut up’ and take your medicine.” She gave her father the tablets for his stomach and then skipped happily back to the kitchen to care for her other father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	146. An Exercise in Love (Anthooper)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this prompt is a suggestion from a few weeks ago, but today was the anniversary for two of my friends and they have inspired some of the Anthooper chapters, so this one is for them. :) 
> 
> Thank you to MyLittleSecret and Lion_62 for this suggestion. 
> 
> Enjoy.

Molly had been reading a book on a park bench when she first saw her, the woman who had taken her breath away. 

The woman was beautiful; she had long brown curls that were tied into a ponytail as she ran laps and her brown eyes seemed to dance. She moved so gracefully, whereas Molly would have already tripped and broken an ankle if she were doing the same thing. Still, Molly watched the woman, her book forgotten. 

After the third lap, she had caught Molly staring and gave her a wink. Molly’s heart skipped a beat and, growing flustered, she left before the woman had finished a fourth lap.

***  
Molly returned to the park a week later; she was intent on speaking to the woman who had entered her daydreams. If she was going to have her heart broken by someone, she wanted to be on speaking terms, or at least know her name. 

As soon as Molly sat on her bench, she saw the woman. As the woman approached Molly, she removed her earbuds and slowed her pace. God, the woman was dazzling in person. What was Molly thinking? A woman like her probably had a handsome husband....

“Hey,” the woman smiled. “I saw you here about a week ago. You left before I could talk to you.”

Molly blushed and weakly returned the smile. “Sorry; I had an emergency.” She then began to search her bag, and she found a water bottle. “Here, I saw that you didn’t have a water bottle last time I was here and I thought you should know that you should stay hydrated.” And Molly mentally chastised herself for her statement of the obvious. “I’m Molly, by the way.”

“Thanks,” the woman said as she opened the bottle and took a sip. “I’m Anthea.” She then sat on the bench beside Molly and Molly jumped at the sudden closeness. “Look, I would really like to skip the awkward silence and be blunt; I believe that you are cute and I was wondering if you would accompany me on a date next Friday. You look like you would be an interesting person who I would like to know.”

Molly’s blush deepened as her mind raced. She took a deep breath to collect herself. “I would love that. Let me give you my number.” The two women exchanged numbers and chatted for a while. The conversation flowed easily and Molly became increasingly more comfortable with Anthea. Their fun, however, ended when Anthea received a phone call. 

“I apologize for the pun, but I really have to run. My boss is in the middle of a crisis. I’ll text you.” And then Anthea ran from the bench, Molly saddened by watching her go. 

***

Molly was prepared. She had a track suit and she was ready to run with Anthea. She waited at the bench at the time upon which they had decided. Finally, Molly heard someone approach...and she found Anthea, in a dress and quirking an eyebrow at her. 

Molly tried to stammer out her thought process, but Anthea simply smiled and stepped closer to her, pulling Molly into a quick kiss. Molly stopped talking immediately. 

“It’s fine.” She smiled. “I actually had the thought that this might happen, so I made sure that my schedule was cleared for the entire night. We could run by your flat and then go get an early dinner and then a movie.”

Molly quickly agreed, happy that she would not have to run. She eagerly took Anthea’s hand and the two began walking in the direction of her flat. 

The night ended with take-away, some wine, and some of the movies from Molly’s film collection. Oh, and a kiss. There were many kisses, but the simple kiss as the two women dozed on the sofa, Molly in Anthea’s arms, was one of the more memorable ones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	147. Lie With Me? (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this (sorta) happened to me today. Only, someone told me to run from the building as quickly as possible. Also, i was in the audience and not playing the violin, but still, it's the same idea. Avoid awkward conversations with the mother of one's ex at all costs.
> 
> Enjoy?

Sherlock’s mind was calm as he let his fingers run over the violin. It was just him, his solo, his world. He let the notes run through him, let the music take control of his body and mind. It was so easy to get lost in the music.

Too soon, however, his piece ended and he heard the crowd applaud. He took a bow, along with the rest of the orchestra, and proceeded to leave the stage so that he could put his violin away and leave. 

Then he caught sight of her, Mrs. Thompson. He had dated her son for a while and then decided that the relationship was not working. He had yet to speak to her since the breakup and he did not want to have to speak to her now. He had put his relationship with Jake behind him and he did not want any of those unnatural feelings to resurface. Besides, speaking with the mother of one’s ex-boyfriend was extremely awkward and uncomfortable.

Sherlock immediately began searching the crowd; he needed a plan.

Then he saw someone waiting at the foot of the stage. Blond hair, deep blue eyes, grown-out military haircut and a limp. Young, but not fresh out of university. Notebook in hand: writer. Why would a writer be at a concert? Critic or journalist then. He would want an interview, maybe something else. By the way he was ogling Sherlock, the man was definitely not straight.

Sherlock put on his best fake smile, climbed down the stairs that led into the audience, and approached the man, keeping an eye on Mrs. Thompson as she tried to move through the crowd.

“Hello,” Sherlock said. “I am Sherlock Holmes. Look, I know you are here to write an article or something, but I am trying to hide from the mother of one of my exes and I was wondering if you would pretend to be my boyfriend until she leaves. I’ll give you anything, within reason.”

The man smiled warmly at Sherlock and immediately threw his arms around the violinist’s neck. “I’m John Watson, by the way. How did you know I wanted an article?” He whispered in his ear and giggled! He actually giggled. 

Sherlock genuinely grinned at the man. “I deduced it. You recently left the military. I would say six months, judging by your hair. The limp is psychosomatic, but the way. You have a notepad with you and pencil smudges on your hands, so you edit your articles in the field and type them at home. Your hands are calloused evenly though, so I would say it is free lance work to supplement your job as a doctor. General Practitioner. You smell like the chemicals that are used in the office and not at the hospital. How did I do?” Sherlock took the man’s hand and started leading him towards the door, towards the exit where he could escape to the dressing rooms. Mrs. Thompson was slowly gaining on them.

“Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.” John smiled as they reached the doors and were plunged into the front foyer.

“She’s coming out of the doors. This way.” Sherlock tugged on John’s hand, but John stayed where he was and pulled Sherlock into his arms. 

John span Sherlock into a dip and kissed him fiercely on the mouth before spinning him back to his feet. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John’s neck and tried to steady himself. Both the dip and the kiss, but mainly the kiss, were dizzying. Sherlock raised his eyes to see a disappointed Mrs. Thompson walking away from them. 

Sherlock pulled away from John and smiled at him. “She’s gone. Be deciding on your reward. You can come with me to get my violin case and my violin. I left it on my chair.”

John followed Sherlock back to the dressing rooms and then to the stage, having a casual conversation. Apparently kissing someone was an excellent icebreaker, especially for the violinist. He even helped to stack some of the chairs. 

Finally, Sherlock had finished packing up his things and putting the chairs in their places backstage. He and John stood in front of the exit, neither of them wanting to leave.

“I’ve decided what I want,” John smiled as he held out his notebook to Sherlock. “I would like two things, actually. Your number and a date next Friday, if you are free.”

Sherlock’s heart leaped at the idea and he suddenly felt a resurgence of some of those old feelings, but it seemed so...different. These feelings were warmer, and he liked them. He did not want to push these feelings from him. He smiled and wrote his mobile number on the notebook page, as well as his address. 

“It’s a date, John Watson. Meet me at this address at seven on Friday night.” Sherlock and John both grinned at each other and John chastely kissed Sherlock’s cheek. Reluctantly, they parted.

The entire cab ride home, Sherlock’s lips and cheek tingled from where John had kissed him. If he could kiss like that when he was acting, what was it like when he wasn’t? 

Sherlock could not wait for Friday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	148. Courage (Anthooper)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Sorry I haven't posted in a few days. Things have been really busy on my end. I'll try to catch up on posts either today or tomorrow. Thank you! :) 
> 
> So, this prompt requires a "thank you" to LakeLove. :)
> 
> Enjoy.

Anthea had not expected to see her here. But there she was. Miss Hooper, the new Latin professor had walked into Anthea's favorite club. She looked a bit unsure, but God, she was beautiful. Her hair was curled and her lipstick made her eyes stand out more. 

"If only..." Anthea murmured to herself. Anthea was the secretary to the principal, but she was also fluent in all of the languages taught at the academy. 

Then, Anthea realized that she could. She could tell the woman who she had been pining over for weeks. 

Maybe it was the alcohol that had lowered her inhibitions, but she strode across the dance floor and to the young teacher. 

Anthea took Miss Hooper's hand kissed it gently. "Je vous adore. Vous êtes très belle, vous savez? Je voudrais vous embrasser, mais vous ne pourrez jamais connaître."

Miss Hooper blushed greatly as she placed her hand on Anthea's cheek and smiled. "M'appelez 'Molly'. Et merci. Vous êtes très belle aussi, comme le soleil après une nuit sans la lune."

"I'm Anthea. Is this okay?" Anthea said as she pulled Anthea close to her and wrapped her arms around her waist. 

"Oui, I mean, yes." Molly smiled softly. A slow song came on and she rested her head on the woman's chest. "Will you go on a date with me? After tonight, I mean. A proper date with dinner?" Molly's tone was hopeful as she met Anthea's gaze. 

"Of course. I would love that." Anthea whispered. She pressed a kiss to Molly's forehead. 

She could almost not contain her joy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	149. Right? (Anthooper)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to write a bit of angst and this got a bit more violent than I intended...so, trigger warnings include mentions and depictions of violence.
> 
> Enjoy.

Molly shivered at the chill of the cold concrete. It was so dark. She could see nothing through the blindfold on her face. The ropes around her wrists burned and irritated her skin.

Why was she so calm? No. She wasn't calm; she was numb. How many times had they tortured her already? She couldn’t recall. She knew that they had broken her wrist and that she probably had a concussion. What did they want again? She couldn’t recall that either.

She was exhausted, but the pain was too great. Her wrist felt like it was going to explode from the pain. She couldn’t let herself fall asleep with the concussion though. She needed to focus.

The cool metal ring on her left hand. She smiled at the thought. Anthea had it engraved and everything. The proposal had been perfect. She had started planning the wedding too. Molly had yet to find a dress...Anthea. She needed to focus on Anthea. 

Anthea would be her rock. She could pull Molly through this situation.

Right?

***

They had come into the room two more times. Molly’s shoulder had been popped out of the socket, she knew. They had simply tortured her and left. She wondered when they would finally give up and kill her already.

No. She couldn’t do that to Anthea though. Anthea needed her as much as she needed Anthea. Molly was going to get out of this and they would have the most amazing wedding.

Suddenly, Molly heard footsteps. They were light and quick, not the usual ones. Then she heard gunshots and thumps on the ground. The metal door screeched open as someone quickly ran to her side, embracing her. 

“Anthea?” Molly whispered, the first words she had said in...days? She did not know how much time had passed. Her voice sounded so hoarse, unused.

“Shhhh....you’re alright now.” The familiar voice said gently as Molly’s bonds were removed. The blindfold fell from her face and Molly’s heart leaped with relief and happiness as she saw Anthea’s face. Anthea gently lifted Molly in her arms, cradling her to her chest and trying not to jostle her shoulder and other obvious injuries too much. 

“I’m so glad to see you.” Molly whispered as she flinched at the gunfire near them. “They wanted information.”

“Shhhh…save your energy, love. We can talk once we get you out of here and into a hospital.” Anthea murmured as she ran through corridors with Molly in her arms. Finally, they made it out of a back door and Molly was soon being placed into an ambulance with Anthea holding her unbroken wrist.

“I love you.” Molly murmured as she felt some of the medicine from her IV start to take effect. “You made the pain tolerable.”

“I love you too. Go to sleep, my love. I’ll be here when you wake up.” Anthea smiled weakly at Molly and gently smoothed her hair from her eyes.

Anthea looked sad, Molly thought just before she drifted into the darkness. Why did she look sad? Molly was fine, so Anthea should be happy, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	150. Wings (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so thank you to Lion_62 for this prompt. (I know it is not exactly as what was suggested, but you know me by now.)
> 
> I would say that Sherlock and John are about 17 or 18 in this chapter.
> 
> Enjoy!

Sherlock clutched his books closer to his chest and took a deep breath before he stepped into the hallway as the bell that dismissed them rang. He needed to prepare himself for the flood of wings into the hallway. Most of the teachers and students had their wings already, meaning that they had found their soulmate.

They were the lucky ones. At least they had someone. They wouldn’t spend their lives waiting for someone who would never appear. Sherlock felt sorry for the person who would be tied to him. 

As soon as one touched their soul mate, those wings would appear. It was both beautiful and disheartening that the slightest brush of a hand could change two lives forever.

Sherlock sighed as he stopped by a window that showed the rugby field. The team was starting to line up. All of the members, save one, used their wings to soar high in the air. It was an efficient way to warm up for practice, he thought. 

Sherlock’s gaze, however, was pulled inexplicably to the wingless player. He was smaller than the others, but he was fast. His blond hair appeared gold in the sunlight and he smiled and joked with the other boys. He was…

Sherlock dropped the thought. He couldn’t get his hopes high, only to let them fall. His soul mate had probably never been born and he was one of those few, rare individuals who would be forced to walk the world alone, forever. 

His eyes again went to the field, but the boy had disappeared. Sherlock glanced at the clock on the wall. He had been in his mind palace for five minutes. He needed to get home. His violin could distract him.

Suddenly, something hit him on his right side, sending him to the ground. The thing, well person, who had hit him was also sent to the ground. 

But the ground did not hurt, nor was it cold. Sherlock felt strange; he was warm all over his body. He opened his eyes and tried to stand...and saw wings. On the blond boy from the field. The wings were beautiful; they had blues that faded into white and black. His wings resembled those of a blue jay, but were about twelve feet in diameter. They matched his eyes.

“Sorry, I left some work in a class and I was rushing to get it and get back to practice. I’m John. Are you alright?” John extended a hand and pulled Sherlock to his feet. 

“Yeah. Better than alright.” Sherlock grinned as he looked at his own wings. They were jet black, but were speckled with oranges, browns, and golds. “I’m Sherlock.” John smiled at him and they began gathering their things.

“I know this is a bit forward, but do you want to go to my practice? I can give you a ride home afterwards. I want to get to know each other, but you are beautiful and your wings are gorgeous. I mean, I don’t know how you feel, but-”

“Yes,” Sherlock said. “Yes to everything. Let’s go.”

Sherlock extended his hand and John took it. They tucked their new wings into their bodies and raced down the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	151. For Molly (Anthooper)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter was inspired by MyriadProBold. Thank you. :)
> 
> This is a continuation from Chapter 148 and I want to have another chapter after this one. Sorry for all of the angst.
> 
> Enjoy. :)

“I’m sorry.” Anthea whispered as she pressed a kiss to the forehead of Molly’s sleeping form. 

Molly was injuries had developed into scars from her ordeal, and her broken bones had been healed. She had started therapy to rehabilitate her shoulder and wrist a few weeks earlier and she was well on her way to recovery. Yes, her injuries had healed.

But Anthea still felt guilty. This…her occupation was just too dangerous for relationships. She had gotten distracted and a threat had slipped through her fingers. Molly had gotten hurt; she very well could have died. And it was all Anthea’s fault.

She couldn’t put Molly through that again; she could not force the woman into a life of danger. Molly deserved safety and a partner and two kids, not danger, not death threats, not Anthea.

Anthea ran her fingers through her hair as she watched Molly sleep. She looked so peaceful, so content. Hopefully, Molly would move on and find someone who loved her as much as Anthea, who treated her correctly, who could protect her.

Slowly and softly, Anthea slipped from the bed. She pulled her suitcase with all of her clothing into the front room. She had packed while Molly had been at work. Molly hadn’t noticed; Anthea had distracted her with dinner and kisses and by putting all of the love in her heart for the woman into one lovely moment of bliss for Molly. For Molly. All of this, for Molly.

Anthea slipped on her work clothes and crept back into the bedroom. She held a letter in her hands; she owed Molly some explanation, some poor excuse behind which she could hide. She removed the engagement ring from her finger and placed it and the note onto her empty pillow.

She pressed a final kiss to Molly’s forehead as a single tear rolled down cheek. 

Molly stirred in her sleep, waking slightly. “What’s wrong, ‘thea?” She murmured. 

“Work.” Anthea whispered as her voice threatened to crack, as her will threatened to break. A lump in her throat made it almost impossible to speak calmly. It’s all for her, she reminded herself.

“Wuv you.” Molly sighed and was again breathing evenly, asleep once more. 

“I love you too.” She whispered as her voice finally broke. She let a few more tears escape as she walked to the bedroom’s entrance. “Goodbye, Molly.”

She only got as far as the car before she broke down entirely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	152. After (Anthooper)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is a continuation from yesterday. I'm going to take a break from this arc tomorrow, but I will continue it in the next few days. 
> 
> Thank you to Lion_62 and MyLittleSecret and sher_locked_22 for this chapter and for the future parts of this arc.
> 
> Enjoy. :)

Three days. She had been gone for three days. Three days that Molly could only remember as a passing blur of numbness and tears and only a few cups of tea to create a sense of normalcy. 

She broke from her trance when John gently pressed a glass of water to her forehead. Sherlock's lock pick sat on the coffee table in front of her. Oh yes, she was on the sofa. When had she moved to the sofa? She didn't know. Oh, John was speaking. 

"We went by the morgue; they said that they had not heard from you in several days. They sent us. Now, what happened?" John called to someone - Sherlock? - to make tea as he turned to her. 

"She left. She took her things, left her ring. She said she felt guilty about...you know." Molly whispered as tears began to well in her eyes. "What do I do, John?"

"Oh Molly." He placed an arm around her and pulled her into a tight hug. She broke out once again into sobs and John gently soothed her by rubbing circles on her back. 

Sherlock returned and awkwardly sat on the other side of Molly. He glanced at John, who gave him a reassuring smile. He cleared his throat and nervously began. 

"Molly, I think Anthea felt guilty about you getting injured. She doesn't want to subject you to that kind of danger. This may seem a bit outrageous, but maybe you should show her that you can handle the danger, that you are okay with being a possible casualty. Your relationship outweighs the risks."

"Yes," Molly hiccuped as her sobs calmed. She wiped her eyes with a tissue that John offered. "I love her so much and-and I know that she loves me. That's why she left, right? Because she loves me? So what do I do?"

Sherlock thought for a moment. "Let me call Mycroft. I think I have a plan." He smiled as Molly nodded and listened to his plan. 

One way or another, she would prove to Anthea that she was not a delicate, defenseless flower. She was Molly Hooper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	153. In Your Dreams (Sherstrade) (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I tried changing things up a bit. Please don't hate me. 
> 
> Thank you to the person who suggested this. You know who you are. 
> 
> Enjoy.

Sherlock sighed into the warmth of the chest of the man beside him. They did not have to work until the night shift and were having a lie-in. 

They didn't expect John to be home until the mid-afternoon. He was at a medical conference in Wales. 

Sherlock rolled away from the man's chest and checked his phone. The clock read noon. They had a few hours, but John had been known to return earlier than his intended time. 

Just as Sherlock moved to waken his partner, he heard the door open. "Sherlock! I'm home!" The doctor called. 

"Greg. Wake up. John is home." Sherlock hissed as he pushed the DI off of the bed. The man landed with a thump and grumbled. 

"Sherlock, you okay?" John called, having heard the thump. 

"Yes, I just tripped on the rug." Sherlock called as he grabbed his mobile and hastily threw on some pants and a dressing gown. He pulled some of Greg's spare clothes from his closet and kissed the man gently before leaving the room. Greg smiled and hastily threw on his own clothes. 

"How was your trip?" Sherlock asked as he walked into the kitchen and began making tea. He set aside two mugs, though John, who already had his, did not notice. 

"It was good. A bit boring. A case would be nice." As if on cue, Sherlock's mobile rang. 

"Yes, Gavin?" He had to suppress a smile. 

"That wasn't what you were moaning this morning, sunshine. Tell him you have a case at the Yard but that you need to run an errand first so that I can sneak out. I'll meet you both there when my shift starts."

"Alright. We'll be there. We might be an hour or two." Sherlock said, giving Greg the secret signal that he could leave in two minutes. "John, we have a case. Go get dressed. Take a shower first. I'll go second."

John nodded and proceeded to go upstairs to get some clothes. After a minute, he went into the bathroom and the shower started. Then Greg entered the living area, wrapping his arms around Sherlock's waist. 

"Don't yell at me too much for not having a case." Greg pressed a quick kiss to Sherlock's lips as he took the mug that Sherlock had set out. "Why can't we just tell him?"

"Because then things would get awkward." Sherlock replied. "Your place on Saturday?"

"Absolutely. I want to make you scream without having to worry about Mrs. Hudson or John hearing." 

"I cannot wait." Sherlock walked Greg to the door and kissed him again. "Love you."

"Love you too. See you soon." 

***

John sat up in bed, drenched in sweat. His detective was sleeping peacefully beside him.

What the hell? Sherlock would never...not with Greg...

It was two in the morning when Greg received a text message. 

Don't you dare go near Sherlock. He is my boyfriend and mine alone. And don't call him Sunshine. - JW

John, are you drunk? Did Sherlock drug you again? I am happily engaged to his brother. Besides, he's your problem. I tried it and trust me, I couldn't live with him. - GL

John blanched as he looked at the sleeping detective. Sherlock and Greg? No. It wouldn't work. 

John lay back down as the detective attached to John, resting his head on his chest. 

"John? Is everything alright? Did you have a nightmare?" Sherlock mumbled as he opened his eyes. 

"Yeah. I just had a bad dream. Well, weird dream. Go back to sleep." He paused for a moment. "You would tell me if you had a relationship with Greg, right?"

"John, he is like a father to me. I mean, we tried dating once, but nothing resulted of it. We lived together for a few months and mutually agreed that we were not right for each other. I don't want to lie to you and say that nothing happened, but there is nothing there now. I only have room in my heart for you." Sherlock looked John in the eyes and John breathed a sigh of relief. Sherlock was telling the truth. 

"Tell me one thing. Why were you dreaming about Gavin?" Sherlock grinned into John's chest. "Should I be worried?"

"Shut up. Go to sleep." John smiled as he kissed his detective and they both drifted back to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	154. Promises (Anthooper)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! So, I fixed it. This is a continuation from Chapter 152. I might or might not have an Anthea chapter in the next few days. We will see. :)
> 
> Thank you to MyLittleSecret and Lion_62 for giving me ideas for this chapter.
> 
> Enjoy. 
> 
> I am not looking at anyone in particular *coughs*, but please do not fight in the comments about ships. Be kind to one another. Ships are meant to sail, not to sink (unless the ship in question is in a pirate AU, which I have not written...yet).

Two weeks. Molly had spent two weeks implementing Sherlock’s plan. She had taken several defense classes and now knew how to take down an attacker with her own hands. She was ready. She alerted Sherlock and Sherlock told Mycroft. She only had to wait.

***

Molly was led to the private office in Mycroft’s own home. It was very...cozy for an office. A library contained not only government atlases and books, but also some classical novels and what appeared to be journals. Molly sat in one of the chairs that surrounded the fireplace and waited. She did not know how confrontational this would get. 

Mycroft was going to lock Anthea and Molly in the study until their problems had been solved and an agreement had been reached. Sherlock had suggested that Molly prove her abilities to Anthea by fighting Anthea herself. Molly would propose a duel between them. This was dangerous. Extremely dangerous. Both of them could get hurt.

Suddenly, the door opened. Anthea walked in first; the door quickly closed and the click of a lock was heard. The room was suddenly bathed in light.

“Anthea.” Molly said in a neutral tone. She forced down her feelings, just for these few moments. She did not need clouded judgement. She gestured for the woman to sit in the chair opposite of hers. Anthea reluctantly did so. “You have two options: we can sit and talk through this like the adults that we are, or I can prove to you that I am not a delicate flower that can be crushed by the wind.”

“I will not fight you, Miss Hooper.” Anthea said. Her tone was dead and cold. “I have work to do-”

“You are not leaving until we settle this.” Molly stood so that she was towering over Anthea, her form imposing, her eyes full of fire. “Fight me. No weapons, only your body. One round. If I subdue you, you have to give me - give us - a chance, give me one date, where everything is like it used to be. If you win, I will move on and we will only see each other in passing. I will, however, not leave everything with all of this ambiguity.”

Anthea met Molly’s gaze. “Deal.” The two women stood and pushed the chairs to the walls, so that the floor was clear. They stood back to back. Molly took a deep breath and exhaled. 

“Go.” Everything occurred very quickly. Anthea moved to swing at Molly’s legs, but Molly jumped backwards and delivered a hit to Anthea’s gut. Anthea grabbed Molly’s arm, the one with the formerly broken wrist and shoulder and twisted it. Molly winced in pain, but was able to step on Anthea’s foot and knock her legs out from under her. Molly fell with the woman and landed on top of her. Molly straddled Anthea, holding her down and pinning her arms to her side. 

Anthea struggled for a few moments, but finally accepted defeat. Or, well, she might have let Molly win. Who could tell?

Molly rolled off of Anthea and layed beside her on the rug. “I’m sorry it had to come to this.” Molly whispered. “When you left, it hurt so much; it hurt more than all of the pain I experienced then. But I’ve been getting stronger. I’ve been taking classes. I can protect myself, Anthea. Don’t you dare blame yourself for the actions of others.”

“I just did not want you to get hurt because of me.” Anthea murmured as she hesitated, then buried her face into the crook of Molly’s neck. “I love you so much, and I wanted you to be safe and happy.”

“Anthea. I am happy, and safe. You found me. They could have done much worse, but you saved me. Before I met you, I felt empty and then you came into my life. You filled a tear in my heart that I ignored because it was better just to be numb. I love you, Anthea.” Molly comforted the woman in her arms, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead when the woman began sobbing. 

“I love you too.” Anthea whispered. “I’m sorry. I overreacted and I hurt you and-” Molly gently lifted Anthea’s chin.

“Anthea, what has passed has passed.” She pressed a gentle kiss to the woman’s lips. “Just, promise me that if you have any doubts or if anything troubles you, you will tell me so that we can work through this as a couple.”

“I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	155. A Start (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As some of you may know, Lion_62 and MyLittleSecret have been major supporters of this work and have provided me with many ideas. 
> 
> I regret to inform you that Lion_62 has left AO3 and, subsequently, this work. This is of her own decision and we will respect her decision. 
> 
> I just thought that I should tell you all. I know that she had befriended several of the readers on here. 
> 
> In addition, some of you may or may not have noticed the "argument" between Lion_62 and MyLittleSecret on one of the previous chapters. This argument was completely staged and they planned to resolve their conflict with a chapter that I will now probably not post. 
> 
> As for me, I apologize for not updating recently. I have not been in the proper state to provide you all with the work that is to the best of my ability. I've been struggling with some personal issues that have left me somewhat blocked. 
> 
> I am not going to stop writing this work, but do not be surprised if I skip a day and add two the next day. Some days are better than others. Any ideas or suggestions are greatly appreciated. 
> 
> I thank you all for your support and for your understanding. 
> 
> \- Alex
> 
> Also, this chapter has a brief mention of blood and focuses on depression, so I am providing a possible trigger warning.

John had noticed a change in his detective and it did not appear to be a good one. 

Sherlock had stopped everything. No cases, no experiments, just nothing. He had not touched his violin in weeks. 

He was sleeping more, too much though. When he wasn't on the sofa, he was in his room. He barely ate, only when forced. 

John was worried and finally decided to confront the man. 

When John soundlessly entered the flat that evening, he was greeted by the sound of something ceramic breaking against the wall and soft sobs from the kitchen. 

He found Sherlock leaning over the sink and trembling. Sherlock was simply staring at one of his hands, which was bleeding. 

"Sherlock," John whispered. 

"Oh John," Sherlock's voice wavered, on the edge of breaking. He did not turn to face John. "I just accidentally cut my hand. I've got it. Why don't you call in for take-away or something while I patch this?"

"Sherlock. We need to talk. Sit. I'll look at your hand." John pulled out a chair for Sherlock and moved to make tea, then went to fetch a first-aid kit. 

John returned and made the tea silently. He sat beside Sherlock and looked at his hand. It was a large cut, but shallow. He wrapped it in a bandage, then looked at the detective. He was staring blankly into the distance. 

"Sherlock," John said. 

"You want to leave." Sherlock murmured. "Just like everyone else."

"No," John replied gently. "I'm concerned about you. You've changed in the past several weeks. I am not a psychologist, Sherlock, but I know depression when I see it. I've been there."

Sherlock was silent for a moment. He then sighed. "I ran out of me medication several weeks ago. They discontinued it. Some adverse side effects."

John reached out to place an arm on Sherlock's shoulder. "Where is your therap-"

"On the mantle. She died several years ago and donated her body to science. She was the best therapist I've ever had. She understood, John. The other medications, they locked me out of my mind palace and I couldn't function. What happens if I go to someone and they give me the generic treatment? One that makes me into someone who I am not." Sherlock leaned forward and fell onto John's chest. "I feel so empty, numb. Any happiness that I have is always fleeting. What do I do?"

John carded his hands through Sherlock's curls. "We can try my therapist, or we can ask your brother for some recommendations. We can interview them and if you don't like them, we can go until we find one whom you like. And you do not necessarily need medication. There are alternative methods. Sherlock, you are not alone in this struggle. You have me and Mrs. Hudson and Molly and Greg. Your brother would help too. We can help, if you'll let us."

"Thank you John." Sherlock murmured, suddenly tired. "Can we go tomorrow?" John agreed with a nod. "What would I do without you?"

"I don't know. But I am here for you. Now, if you are going to sleep on me, let's move to the sofa." Sherlock nodded and let John move them to the sofa. 

***

Sherlock awoke that morning on the sofa with John's arms wrapped protectively around him. The sun streaming onto John's face made him feel, for a brief moment, content. 

It wasn't a complete fix, a cure, but it was a start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	156. Romantic Comedies (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really don't know what happened here. I may or may not have had caffeine. Oh well. 
> 
> Enjoy. :)

They had been brilliant. They had chased a criminal across London and the adrenaline still coursed through their veins. 

As soon as the door was locked, John had Sherlock pushed up against the wall. 

He kissed the man deeply, tasting the tea and tobacco -they would talk about that later- on the detective's mouth. Sherlock pushed back into the kiss, gripping John's jumper tightly. 

John's fingers found themselves tangled in Sherlock's curls and he tugged on them so that he could trail kisses down the detective's neck. 

He tried to unbutton the man's button-down, only to be stopped as Sherlock tried to pull his jumper over his head. John's head became stuck in Sherlock's frenzy and he released the man, laughing. 

He removed his jumper and admired the man before him for a moment. Sherlock was panting, a deep blush covered gave a rosy color to his cheeks and chest. His pupils were wide, darkened with lust. 

Clouded with lust too. The man struggled with his own shirt buttons, but could not focus enough to remove them from their loops. He whined and fell against the wall. "Jaaaaawwwnnn. Bed. Now."

John smiled and moved back to his detective. "Yes, my love." He placed his hands on Sherlock's hips and ran them up the man's sides in order to calm him. 

Sherlock took this as an invitation to wrap his appendages around the man. John was not expecting the man to do so. Though he was skinny, Sherlock was all muscle and he was heavy. John stumbled forward with Sherlock's weight and slammed his head into the wall. He stumbled back, dazed, and fell to the ground. 

Sherlock was suddenly alert and ran to get an ice compress. He helped John to the sofa. 

John was a bit dazed but otherwise fine. "Of all the ways to get injured, I never thought it would be during sex. Why did you do that anyway?"

"I saw it in a movie. The man picked the woman up in his arms and carried her into the bedroom to make love to her." Sherlock said shyly. "I also saw one where it was raining and there was this beautiful lift."

"That's 'the Notebook' and about every romantic comedy ever." John smiled. "We should watch some so I can tell you things that we can and cannot do. I am old and need a bit of a warning before you jump into my arms."

"Do you want to watch one now? I killed the mood a bit. I'll order takeaway. I'll pick the movie."

"We are not watching 'Love, Actually' again, Sherlock. I know you like Colin Firth, but 'Pride and Prejudice' was the last straw. I feel like I am competing with him for your attention."

"You are," Sherlock smiled as he pressed a kiss to John's cheek. "But you are winning by a long shot. He may look nice, but you look better. Especially when you are in my bed, preferably when you are not clothed."

"Fine, I'll go get the DVD. You call in the order." John sighed. 

The things he did for his detective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	157. Fins (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your support! You are all amazing and deserve awards. Since I do not have awards, I give you a bit of Mermaid!Lock. :)
> 
> So, I would like to thank MyLittleSecret for the suggestion for this chapter (and the next one). 
> 
> I give you, a ship. 
> 
> Enjoy.

John let the soft sound of the waves lull him to sleep as he stood at his post. The midnight air was warm, but not too humid. He yawned and tried to shake himself awake. He was supposed to be keeping watch.

At starboard, he heard a sound, a soft rustling in the netting. He crept towards the noise, drawing his dagger. He looked into the net and was surprised to see a face, a human face with silver eyes staring at him. The eyes looked desperate, pleading, a silent cry for help. He noticed a flash of blues and greens...a tail? The creature let out a whine and thrashing in the net, trying to get away from John.

“Shhh...I won’t hurt you.” John whispered. He did not want to wake the other guard. “I’m going to free you, let you go. Do you understand?” 

The creature stared at him for a moment, but stilled and continued to watch the sailor as he hacked at the ropes with his dagger. He made an opening that was large enough for the merman to escape. John hesitantly reached into the net, extending his hand to the creature after noticeably kicking his dagger to the other side of the ship.

The creature took his hand and a burning sensation shot through his arm. Still, despite the somewhat painful sensation, he eased the merman out of the net and helped him onto the side of the ship.

“Are you alright?” John asked. 

The merman simply smiled and winked at the sailor before jumping from the ship’s side. John could only marvel as the scales reflected a rainbow of colours in the moonlight. The creature was absolutely beautiful; even his black curls seemed to reflect the moonlight.

Dazed, John returned to his post and tried to ignore the burning sensation in his hand. 

***

After five days, John had summed it up to a rum-induced dream. 

John sputtered and coughed as he found refuge on a piece of debris. The ship had gone down; the mermaids had attacked. They had actually punctured the hull of the ship, then had proceeded to break it in half with their sheer strength.

Now they were ripping the sailors to shreds. John had no chance.

Suddenly, he saw a reflective fin, a rainbow in the moonlight. He prepared himself for the worst as a hand gripped his ankle and pulled him into the water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	158. Gills (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is a continuation from the previous chapter. 
> 
> Again, thank you to MyLittleSecret for the suggestion.
> 
> Enjoy. :)

John struggled against the creature’s iron grasp, trying to free himself so he could get to the surface. Suddenly, the hand on his ankle was released. A pair of strong arms gripped his waist and cared him… up or down? He had lost all sense of direction. His lungs were burning. He needed to breath...he needed…

Suddenly, he felt a pair of lips pressed to his own and the same burning sensation filled his lungs. The need for oxygen was gone and he felt at his neck, finding gills. He smiled to himself. This was amazing, whatever this was. He hoped that it was not a dream, because he did not want it to end. 

He did, however, want those lips on his again. He wanted to say something to the creature at his side, but he suddenly felt exhaustion settle over him. The water was so warm and the embrace was comforting. He soon drifted off to sleep.

*** 

John awoke where the sand and the waves merge as the midday sun bore down upon him. He coughed and water came pouring from his lungs as he tried to breathe. 

He rolled onto his stomach and collapsed as the nausea from the salt water on his stomach hit him. What the hell had happened?

Then he remembered. The wreck, the mermaids, the drowning, the fear, and the feel of someone’s lips on his. 

He looked around at his surroundings, finding the reflective scales quickly in the sunlight. He stumbled to his feet, towards the creature, but slowed his pace to a gentle approach. 

“Thank you, for saving me.” John smiled at the dark-haired merman. He looked even more beautiful in the light of day as he had perched himself on a low-sitting rock that the waves met often.

The creature gestured for the man to move closer and held up his palm. John reached out and pressed their palms together, interlocking their fingers.

“I am Sherlock.” The merman said in John’s mind. His lips did not move, but John was not frightened. He was intrigued. “Why are you not running back to your people to seek revenge?”

“You are much more interesting.” John replied in his mind. “Thank you for saving me. You were...brilliant.”

“You saved me first.” The merman replied with a smile. “I could only return the favor. I knew that they were planning the attack, so I marked you. You felt a burning sensation in your hand? That was my mark. You are my sailor and mine alone.”

“So, I’m your servant now?” John replied jokingly with a smile. The merman shook his head and grinned with the man. “Are you going to leave me?”

“I must.” Sherlock replied. 

“Please don’t go.” John whispered aloud. “Take me with you. My life is so boring and you are brilliant. You saved me and you are beautiful and I do not want to part from you. I feel that we are connected somehow.”

The merman gazed at him for a moment, then smiled. “My brother will object, but I have more power than him, more magic. I can turn you into one of my species. But know that you can never return to being a human. And I tend to separate myself from the others. I do not believe in killing the humans. You will be in exclusion with me for the rest of your life.”

“Let’s go then.” John smiled. “I’m sure we can convince some people of our cause and spend our times with other occupations.” John took Sherlock’s hand and helped him into the water, the burning sensation expanding throughout his body.

“Tell me, John. How do humans show affection for one another? Do they press their mouth opening to each other, as we do?” Sherlock asked as John stood in the water, waist-deep, by the merman.

“It is called a kiss.” John smiled. 

“Then I would like you to kiss me.” Sherlock smiled as John leaned towards him. They pressed their lips to each other as they dove into the waves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	159. Cold-Feet (Mystrade)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank Charlie_Bucket for this suggestion. :) 
> 
> Enjoy. :)

Mycroft paced the room nervously before finally throwing himself to the room's sofa. This was going extremely fast. No...it wasn't fast, their relationship; Mycroft was just feeling overwhelmed. 

They had planned the wedding in three months, at the behest of his mother and his daughter. Mummy claimed that she wanted to see all of her children married before she died. Two of the three were married, so needless to say, she was rushing them, though she was expected to live for at least another thirty years. Koby just wanted to be the flower girl. 

Mycroft placed his face in his hands, then ran his fingers through his hair. There were too many people there. What if he got something in his vows wrong? What if everything went wrong? What if Sherlock set the cake on fire? What if Mira set the cake on fire? What if both of them set the cake on fire? 

He needed Greg, but the man was getting ready, and he did not want to bother him. 

There was a knock at the door. His voice sounded more broken than he intended, but he allowed the person entrance. He was expecting his brother. 

Instead, the doctor entered the room. He smiled warmly as he adjusted his medals. 

"Hey Mycroft," John took a seat next the politician. "Sherlock sent me. He said that you might be nervous. He's talking with Greg and Koby and Mira are with Anthea and Molly."

Mycroft sighed and again ran his fingers through his hair. "I am terrified. What will happen if something goes wrong, if I mess up something? What will people think?"

"Then let it go wrong." John said. "Mycroft, the people who mind what you do and criticize you do not matter. The people who matter to you will not mind. You are surrounded by your family and friends and we will not judge you. You love Greg, right?"

"Of course, he is my world." Mycroft replied. 

"Then that is all that matters. Weddings are meant to show your undying love for the other person. You love Greg and Greg loves you. We are really just here to witness it, to celebrate your love. Who cares if some small things go wrong? It will work out in the end. I already made my two geniuses promise not to destroy anything or conduct any experiments." The doctor placed a reassuring hand on Mycroft's shoulder. "You can do this, Mycroft. We are all here to support you. We won't let you fall. Well, if you do fall, we will catch you. Now, I believe we have a ceremony to attend."

Mycroft stood, feeling a bit better, and straightened his tie. He ran a brush through his hair, took a breath, and turned to the doctor. 

"John," he felt a bit strange using the man's first name. "Thank you. I - I was on the verge of panicking."

"Most people have the pre-wedding jitters. It's normal to be anxious. You stopped Sherlock from running and Greg stopped me at ours. I'm just returning the favor." John smiled again and opened the door. 

Mycroft smiled and followed the doctor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	160. Wisdom (Mystrade)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is a companion to the last chapter. A thank you for the prompt goes to Charlie_Bucket. :)
> 
> Enjoy. :)

Greg wanted to run. He could not do this. He could not get married again. He loved Mycroft, but he had loved Dana too and their marriage had ended in a disastrous divorce and an unexpected child. 

He loved Koby, but she had definitely not been planned. Not that she needed to know. 

Greg was able to make it about 50 meters from the Holmes mansion before a certain detective stepped out from his place behind an apple tree. He had been sitting on a swing, it appeared. 

"Gavin," Sherlock said as he quickly deduced the man's emotions. "Sit on the swing. We need to talk."

Greg followed the detective's orders and soon found himself being pushed. 

"I used to come out here to think. I learned calculus and physics under this tree when I was eleven." Sherlock said. "I want to get a tree for Mira. The city is so...concrete. I would hate to leave Baker Street, but maybe in the summer? We are only 20 minutes from London. I'm sure Koby would like it here too."

"What are you going on about, Sherlock?" 

"We are not that different. We both had children that we never expected to have. We are both in unexpected relationships. I've come to learn that things are never what I expect them to be."

Sherlock stopped pushing Greg and proceeded to start climbing the tree. He grabbed two apples, tossing one to Greg, before jumping down. 

"You can't expect this marriage to turn into your last one. Mycroft loves you and he will remain monogamous. He would never cheat on you because he would crumble if you left. I think both of you would be crushed without the other." Sherlock pulled a hunting knife from his sock and sliced the apple, much to the confusion of the DI. Why did he have a hunting knife?

"To cut the cake. Do keep up." Sherlock smirked. "Just...take a leap of faith. You melted the iceman who was my brother, and he took a depressed and borderline-alcoholic detective and made him into a caring individual. Had you met me before you met my brother, do you think that you would have given me a chance? Or would I have died in a gutter with a needle-" Sherlock cleared his throat. "You two saved each other and, as a result, saved John and myself. Please, let me save you."

Greg stood and moved to speak, but the detective continued. "If you leave now, you will be throwing away something that is more important than you know. Love is about the risk. It's a gamble. You cannot reap the rewards without playing the game. Judging by your relationship right now, I would say you have a high chance at winning the jackpot."

Greg looked at Sherlock, then back at the house. He turned to Sherlock and smiled. "Thank you." He pulled the man into a hug. 

"It's no trouble, Gregory." The detective smiled as he climbed onto the swing, his feet on the wooden seat and his hands in the ropes. "I'll be out here a bit longer. If you see John, send him out here."

Greg smiled and started towards the house. He stopped. "You called me by my name."

"Maybe my brother is having an influence on you." The detective smiled. "Go."

And Greg could all but run back to the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	161. Stars in the Country (Johnlock) (Mystrade)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I would like to thank MyriadProBold for the suggestion for this chapter. :)
> 
> Enjoy. :)

"Greg said I could find you here." John said as he leaned against the trunk of the apple tree. He held two glasses of wine as he gazed at his partner, who drifted forward and back on the swing. 

The sun was just setting, the golden light tinged red that made the scene almost ethereal. 

"That ceremony was beautiful." John murmured as he handed Sherlock a glass and wrapped his arms around his husband's shoulders, resting his chin on his husband's head. 

Sherlock hummed in agreement and turned in the man's grasp so that he could peck him on the lips. He wrapped his arms around John's back and they stood there, holding each other. The darkness without the sun soon descended. The moon was full and illuminated the landscape. 

"How would you feel about living out here?" Sherlock murmured. "We have enough money to get a house, a mansion even, out here. Even if it is just a summer home. The city is so...concrete. Mira, she could thrive here. We could get bees, John, or horses. And swings, trees for her to climb. We could bring Koby too; we could still do cases. London is only a small drive. And just for the summers. We could rent it in the other months or let Mrs. Hudson and Angelo have a break from us."

John smiled and nuzzled into his detective's neck. "You always have the wonderful ideas. I do agree though. The country would, could, be good for us, good for Mira. Maybe we could get a dog too, one like Redbeard. God, I can see the experiments now." John paused for a moment. "We can discuss this later. Right now, I want to relish in the fact that Koby and Mira are safely already in bed and that you are mine for the rest of the night."

John kissed Sherlock and pulled him to his feet. Sherlock suddenly had an idea and was immediately climbing the tree. He found a sturdy branch and sat on it as John followed. 

Through the branches, a summer sky of stars lay before them. Sherlock took John's hand and began pointing out constellations. 

"I discovered a love of science, of all of the sciences, in this tree. I want to give her that, give you that. You can always see the stars out here; December nights are the most beautiful, especially when the moon is full. I had hypothermia more than once in the winters."

John rested his head in Sherlock's shoulder. "Thank you...for this. I love you so much." 

Sherlock smiled and kissed John gently. 

***

"John and Sherlock, sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G." Greg murmured into his new spouse's ear as they watched from a distance away. Not that the blogger and the detective would have noticed. They were caught up in each other. 

"Shhh...Gregory." Mycroft whispered as he playfully swatted at his husband. He then pulled him into a fierce kiss. "I have some better suggestions as to what you can do with that mouth, if you would care to meet me in the bedroom."

"Lead the way." Greg smirked as he followed his husband, the other couple forgotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	162. Relief (Mystrade)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this was suggested by Lion_62 before she left. 
> 
> Enjoy. :)

Greg's heart dropped as he saw the banner at the bottom of the screen. 

3 DEAD IN EXPLOSION AT UK EMBASSY IN SWITZERLAND. 

No...no. This was not happening. He scrambled to grab his mobile, dialing Mycroft's number. He was sent straight to the voicemail. He called Anthea, only to receive the same message. 

No. Mycroft had gone to Switzerland for some routine business. He had said that he would be back on that Saturday in time to celebrate their anniversary. He was fine. He was perfectly...

"I'm overreacting. I need to calm down. Mycroft is fine." Greg thought as he stared at his mobile. The man would call at any moment. Greg just needed to wait. 

He broke down around hour three. 

***

Seven hours. The death toll was at twenty individuals and Greg's nerves had not calmed in the slightest. No answers or word from Mycroft or Anthea. 

He was numb, his face felt raw. He tried to sleep, but the damned thing evaded him. He had too much on his mind. 

Just as he was starting to doze on the sofa, he heard the turn of the lock. He sprinted to the door, flinging it open. 

He pulled Mycroft into his arms and buried his face in his neck. 

"I thought you were in Switzerland." Greg murmured as a sob escaped him. "I thought you were dead."

"I decided to come home to you instead. They didn't need me." Mycroft replied as he kissed his forehead and embraced him tightly. "I left on a flight this afternoon. I apologize for you being unable to reach us."

"It's fine. At least you came back. Promise that you will always come back to me." 

"I promise, Gregory. My love." Mycroft took Greg's hand and started to lead them to the bedroom. "Let's go to bed, shall we? You look about as exhausted as I feel."

Greg smiled and followed his lover, the sense of relief finally settling his mind now that the love of his life had returned to his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	163. Privacy (Mystrade)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy.

Sherlock worked at the lock carefully. Window locks were terribly easy to pick, but any movement outside the window could easily alert the owners to something being amiss. 

Chances be damned. He needed that case file that his brother, in the lovely manners associated with a longstanding sibling rivalry, had yanked it from his hands. Sherlock was pissed. It was at least a nine. 

The lock finally clicked open as he whistled to John, a signal to stay on the look out, but to stay out of sight. 

Carefully, he hoisted himself through the window and fell less than gracefully onto the floor. He scrambled to his feet, only for his face to land in someone's navel area. 

Sherlock stumbled backwards, towards the window. He felt like he was going to vomit. 

Lestrade was standing in front of Sherlock, devoid of every piece of clothing aside from his boxers. His cheeks were flushed and his lips seemed enflamed. What the hell was he doing in his brother's house?

Suddenly, Sherlock noticed the angry figure who was sitting impatiently on his desk. His brother was only wearing a half-unbuttoned shirt and...oh. 

Lestrade had been performing an act of oral pleasuring on his brother. 

Before any man could speak, Sherlock threw himself from the window, landing in the bushes. He took John by the hand and they ran. 

Sherlock had to be treated for a sprained wrist and was subjected to a stern speech about breaking and entering and privacy from the newly-outed couple. He spent the entire night vomiting as he tried, to no avail, to delete the images of his brother and Lestrade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	164. Nap Time (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy. :)

Mira had fully grasped the concept of walking, Sherlock knew, when he found himself more exhausted from chasing her around the flat than from chasing criminals across London. Maybe he was just getting old. 

The afternoon was warm and Sherlock had opened the windows as they both settled on the sofa for a brief nap. 

Mira, always the child to avoid a nap at all costs, waited until her father was asleep before gently finding her way to the ground. 

"Hide and seek!" She exclaimed as she ran out of the room. The game was afoot. 

***

Sherlock was startled by the door closing as John entered the flat. 

"Hey, how was your day? Where's Mira?" John asked as he kissed Sherlock's forehead. 

"I don't know." Sherlock jumped to his feet. She had been on his chest, then... His attention turned to the open window. He gazed below, seeing no signs of the toddler on the fire escape. John now had a panicked look in his eyes. He too started searching the living area. 

"You check our bedroom. I'll check the cabinets." Sherlock said as he began searching under the sink. 

Sherlock had the idea to check the bathroom when he heard John call his name. Fearing the worst, he sprinted to their bedroom...

Where John was taking pictures with his phone. Mira lay on the rug, her stuffed bumblebee under her arm and another stuffed animal under her head. She clutched at the blanket that covered her body. 

Suddenly awoken by the loud footsteps, she raised her head. "Papa, you are terrible at hide and seek." She said. Her head fell back onto the animal, and she was again asleep. 

John gently lifted her and placed her in her crib, raising an eyebrow at his husband as he turned away. "We need to have a talk."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	165. Baby (Anthooper)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this chapter broaches the topic of infertility and some of the emotional conflicts associated with it. So, if this is a trigger warning for anyone, I am warning you now.
> 
> This prompt was suggested a while ago by Lion_62. 
> 
> Enjoy.

Molly stared at the little stick in her hands. She could hardly contain herself as she sobbed happily. 

PREGNANT.

She was pregnant. They were finally going to have a baby. 

"Anthea!" She called down the hallway. Anthea came sprinting into the room, a confused look on her face. "It's positive."

Her face instantly brightened as she took Molly into her arms. "We're having a baby."

After a year of unsuccessful attempts, they were finally going to be mothers. 

***

"I apologize, Miss Hooper. It appears that the test was a false positive." The doctor said as she looked at the results from the blood work. 

Molly let her head fall onto the paper-covered pillow as tears threatened to escape her eyes. 

The doctor sighed; she had given this speech so many times, it was hard not to sound like a robot. "Miss Hooper, you are exhibiting signs of infertility. I can recommend you to a specialist; you could try IVF treatments and also get tested for what may be making you unable to conceive. If you want to go another route, I can send you to some adoption agencies." 

The doctor gave Molly a reassuring pat on the leg before leaving so that she could change. 

The doctor soon came back into the room. Molly was still trying her best to keep herself together. She was handed several pamphlets and she managed to thank the doctor and to check out at the front before running to the nearest trash can. 

She felt sick, her stomach heaving and rolling as she tried to regain her composure. 

She wasn't pregnant, was probably infertile. Anthea couldn't carry the baby, not with her job. Molly felt worthless. The one thing that she would have been able to provide to their relationship and...Anthea did so much for her. She and Anthea both decided that they wanted a child, and Molly, for once, felt that she could give back to her lover. 

Her stomach heaved again at the thought: How was she going to tell Anthea?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	166. Cold Feet (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here is part one of two of a Johnlock wedding. 
> 
> This was suggested by MyLittleSecret.
> 
> Enjoy. :)

Sherlock let out a shaky breath. He couldn't do this. His suit felt too tight, the tie was constricting. He felt hot, too hot. 

The music began to play and he hesitated. He needed to do this for John, but he couldn't bring himself to move. He was frozen. 

Focus. John and Mira, he told himself. You love them. But everyone is looking at you. Why is cousin Marc here? You ruined the idea of owning a hamster for him. He must be angry. Aunt Susan, wasn't she dead? Well, you insulted her age twenty years ago, so she can't be happy. Oh no, John is coming this way. He's upset. He's going to leave...

Sherlock's knees buckled as black dots clouded his vision. He heard someone giving orders, could feel someone gently lowering him to the ground. 

***

Sherlock's head throbbed as he felt a cool cloth on his face. He tried to sit up, but he was gently pushed back down. 

"Shhh...Sherlock. You hyperventilated and collapsed. You are fine now." John's reassuring hands were on his arm. 

"I'm sorry, John." Sherlock whispered as he opened his eyes. Mycroft, Greg, John, and Mira all surrounded him. "Everything was just too much. I've ruined..."

Mira knelt beside him, placing her small hands on either side of his face. "Daddy, Papa loves you and you love him. You can do this. I believe in you. Papa believes in you. Everyone believes in you and Papa. Now, go get married and kiss each other so we can get to the cake. I told Koby that I could eat more than her." She then proceeded to take his hand and tried to pull him to his feet. 

Sherlock smiled at his daughter and shakily got to his feet with John's help. He straightened his suit. "Alright, let's do this."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	167. Texts (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as I am oft to do, I wrote another idea instead of the wedding continuation. I will write it soon. 
> 
> This chapter is from John's perspective. I've listed the names and nicknames that he has written in his phone for each character. 
> 
> If you all like this kind of writing, I can gladly write more like this. 
> 
> Enjoy.

SHERLOCK - Husband/ Consulting Arse

Sherlock, what do you want for dinner? - JW

Hotdogs. Can I have a puppy?

Mira, why do you have your father's mobile? Give it back to him. - JW

Daddy left. He said, "John, a case. Watch Mira." 

Okay. Go to Mrs. Hudson's until I get back. I'll be about an hour. No experiments. Do NOT touch the microwave or the stove. - JW 

Okay. :(

***

Mrs. Hudson - Housekeeper/Mother

Can you watch Mira for a bit? Sherlock forgot about her again. - JW

Take all the time you need, deary. She can sleepover, so you two can have that angry make-up sex that you do enjoy at three in the morning. - H

Sorry, Mrs. Hudson. We'll try to keep it down next time. We'll get you some noise-canceling headphones. And thank you for watching her. I'll be about an hour. - JW

No problem, dearie. - H

***

Gavin - IN CASE OF EMERGENCY CONTACT

Hey Greg, is Sherlock at a crime scene? - JW

Ya. We're almost done. He just solved it. - GL

Tell him that he needs to come home. Immediately. He left Mira home alone. I may or may not kill him. - JW

Why are you telling this to a POLICE OFFICER? Jk. I'll help you hide the body. - GL

I told him. He got a frightened look and sprinted away. Get Myc to check the cameras. I have to go. See you on Friday. - GL

***

UNKNOWN - DO NOT CALL

Mycroft, could you find Sherlock and send him to Baker St? - JW

Thanks. - JW

***

SHERLOCK - Husband/ Consulting Arse

John, I'm sorry. - SH

John. I thought you were there. - SH

I deleted the fact that you work, it's the same as the plate incident. John? - SH

John? - SH 

Please forgive me. - SH 

You couldn't even check to see if I was there, Sherlock. She could have gotten hurt. What if someone kidnapped her? You have enemies, Sherlock. And Mira is one of your weaknesses who cannot defend herself as easily as the rest of us. She is six years old, Sherlock. Please just be more considerate in the future. - JW

You are forgiven. - JW

Can we got to bed when you get home? Mira is still with Hudders. - SH

We will have to be quiet. We need to get headphones for her. Also, Mira wants a puppy. - JW

Fine. Quiet make-up sex after Mira goes to sleep and after Hudders has her herbal soother. - SH

***

Mrs. Hudson - Housekeeper/Mother

Can you watch Mira for the night? Something came up. - JW

Sure, dearie. Just keep it on a quiet level. Don't want her getting scared. - H

Got it. Thanks. - JW

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	168. Vows (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here is a continuation for the Johnlock wedding, as was suggested by MyLittleSecret.
> 
> Enjoy. :)
> 
> Okay, so I'm going to be gone tomorrow through Wednesday. I have a college orientation and I do not know how well my roommate will like me writing fanfiction on my phone while she is trying to sleep. I'll try to update, but I can make no promises. I'll be sure to catch everything up when I get back though, so no worries. Thanks!

Sherlock allowed John to pull him towards the alter, with Mira gripping at his trousers, helping her father pull him along. 

The officiant began the ceremony, but John and Sherlock were not really listening. They were lost in each other's eyes. Finally, they were told to exchange vows. John squared his shoulders and cleared his throat. 

"Sherlock Holmes...what can I say? You are the most amazing, brilliant, and ridiculous man who I have ever met. You set something on fire at least once a week and leave eyeballs in my tea. You made my life insane and dangerous and worth living. You saved me from myself. You pulled me out of a spiraling depression, PTSD, and so much other stuff, and you made me fall in love with you along the way. I love you more and more each day and I can't see myself growing old with anyone else."

John squeezed Sherlock's hands gently, to reassure him, and gave him a warm, loving smile. A tear ran down Sherlock's cheek as he cleared his throat. 

"Everyone, cover your ears. You don't want to hear this!" He shouted, earning a laugh from everyone in the audience. Mrs. Hudson's happy sobs were heard from the front row. 

"John Watson...when you walked- limped- into my life, I was a stubborn, cold-hearted arse." A cheer of agreement erupted from the section that contained the Yarders. "You taught me how to love, and how to be loved. Not just romantically, but also in a platonic sense. You were my best friend first, and my first friend. You taught me, the man who thought he knew everything except for the solar system, that love is unconditional and that even I was capable of it. I don't need the solar system. You, and Mira, have become my universe. I love you so much, John Watson. I may have saved you, John, but you have saved me in so many different ways." 

A small sob escaped Sherlock's throat with his final sentence. He rested his forehead on John's shoulder to regain his composure. After a moment, the ceremony continued 

And, as the sun shined bright, the two men exchanged simple golden rings and kissed for the first time as husbands. 

The reception was eventful, to say the least. Greg and Mycroft both did the best men speeches. 

Mrs. Hudson was so tipsy that she revealed some of her old dance moves from her days as a showgirl. She also revealed a bit more, due to her dress splitting open in the back during a high kick. 

Anthea and Molly were caught snogging in the bushes and were left alone, due to the fact that no one wanted to come between the assassin and the medical examiner. No one wanted a broken arm. 

John and Sherlock retreated early to their room to celebrate their wedding night and to prepare for their honeymoon. (Mrs. Hudson would be watching Mira while they were gone.)

Oh, and Mira and Koby fell asleep under the tables before the cake was even cut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	169. Chapter 169

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I was able to write one. :) I was talking with one of my friends and this just popped into my head. 
> 
> Enjoy the angst. I'll fix it. :)

Calm. Numb. He felt as if he were floating; the burning in his lungs was soothed by the frigid water. 

He felt...strange. After years of chaos, the feeling was new, and he could barely place it. The word was on the tip of his tongue, in the back of his mind. 

Peace. He stopped struggling, ached to let the water invade him, his lungs. 

Then a face appeared in his mind. Gregory. He had never told his feelings. And he never would, it appeared. 

He struggled one last time, but the water was now threatening, constricting, urging him to accept it. 

It pried his lips open and flooded his lungs. The void consumed him. 

***  
DI Lestrade saw an umbrella on stand out from the cold waters of the Thames. He thought he saw a shape, and he couldn't take any chances. 

Those criminals had kidnapped Mycroft and had thrown him into the river as soon as they realized that he wouldn't talk. Sherlock had tortured them until they had revealed that Mycroft would be dropped at midnight into the Thames, with his umbrella tied to his arm so that body could be found. 

Greg did not pause as he divested himself of his coat and dove into the Thames.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	170. Out of the Silence (Mystrade)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I'm back! Orientation was a bit of a disaster, but everything is better now. 
> 
> I'm going to try to post two chapters a day in order to catch up on the days I missed. :)
> 
> Now, without any further adieu, I give you the conclusion to the last chapter.

Greg grabbed Mycroft's limp form and swam towards the surface. 

Breathe, Greg. You have him. You are going to save him. You can do this. He isn't going to die. He can't...

They broke the surface of the water, Greg gasping for air. The Yarders had been alerted to his jump and quickly moved to pull the two men into the boat. Greg breathed a sigh of relief, only to have his heart nearly stop when he glanced at Mycroft. 

He wasn't breathing. 

Greg jumped from his place and searched for anything, any sign of life. He found a weak pulse. He turned Mycroft onto his stomach and tried to dispel the water from his lungs. 

***

Noise surrounded him. Chaos. Pain. 

His lungs burned and he could not feel his extremities. He was so cold. 

He coughed and was rolled over into his stomach, allowing water to flow from his lungs. 

Mycroft then collapsed onto the floorboards. He felt something push him onto his back, felt something warm on his lips. Someone was kissing him? For a moment, he imagined it was Greg.

There were voices yelling, the light that entered through his eyelids amplified the dull pain behind his eyes. His senses were overwhelmed and he again was consumed by the darkness. 

***

Mycroft's eyelids fluttered as he was awakened by someone's soft voice. 

"I'm such an idiot. I thought that you might...but you probably aren't. You probably won't hear this, but I need to get it off my chest. I like you. No, I love you. I want to get closer to you, to see you smile and take you to dinner and then have you fall asleep on my chest after a heated moment of passion. I know that you will only see me as a friend, but this is how I feel."

Mycroft stared at the man who was sitting by his bedside, cradling his hand. Slowly, and with some effort, he lifted his other hand so that it rested in Greg's hair. 

Greg jumped slightly, but his tired eyes met Mycroft's. "Look, Mycroft..." Mycroft's hand fell to his lips, silencing the DI. 

Mycroft cleared his throat. It burned and he likely needed to rest his vocal chords, but Gregory was more important. 

"I thought that I was the only one," he rasped. "I've been in love with you for years. I just didn't know how..." His voice fell silent; his throat's pain was becoming unbearable. 

"I understand." Greg smiled. "I'm so happy. Once you get better, I'm taking you on a date. An actual date and not just coffee to discuss Sherlock."

Mycroft nodded and grinned. Greg leaned close to him and pressed a kiss to his forehead. Mycroft's heart rate on the monitor increased at the contact. 

Greg grinned and kissed Mycroft again, this time gently on the lips. The rate again jumped. 

Mycroft eyed the DI with half-hearted annoyance before breaking into a silent laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	171. Say It To My Face(book) (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I had this idea and I went with it. :)
> 
> Enjoy. :)

Sherlock, I sent you a friend request on Facebook weeks ago. Why haven't you accepted it? - JW

Experiment, John. - SH

Besides, I don't have friends. - SH

FRIENDS? You have 856. I'm looking at your profile. - JW

Greg said you accepted his yesterday. - JW

Do you hate me? Because I thought that our romantic relationship was going pretty well. - JW

I'm sorry. There is some vital evidence that can't be disturbed on there. - SH

I'm logging onto your account myself. It's just a friend request. How bad can the "evidence" on there be. - JW

You left your info so that it remembers your password. I would suggest that you fix that. - JW

Don't do it, John. Please. - SH

...I don't know what to think. - JW

Why are there pictures of me sleeping? When did you take these? - JW

Sherlock, you know that posting naked images on here is illegal, right? - JW

It's just your chest, John. Nothing too explicit. - SH

Oh my god. I am going to murder you. The Yard has seen me naked. The Yard has seen me having sex. Sarah liked that damn photos, Sherlock. - JW

When are you coming home? - JW

Fine. You are sleeping on the sofa. I am going to bed. - JW

I'm sorry. I just wanted everyone to know that you are mine. I was wrong to take the photos without your permission. I'll take them down. - SH

Look at my most recent post. - SH

I removed all of the indecent photos. I added the ones from our dates though. Look at my cover photo. Angelo snapped that. It's the best one. - SH

John, I love you. Please, look at the post. It's a video. I have something to ask you. - SH 

Yes, you berk. The answer will always be yes. I'm coming downstairs now. - JW

We can change our relationship statuses to engaged. :) - JW 

Never post those kinds of photos again. - JW

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	172. Oh Baby (Anthooper)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Voilà! A continuation for the chapter where Molly found out that she is infertile. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Molly was sitting in the dark on the sofa when she received a text message. 

Won't be home tonight. Something came up. - A

How was the appointment? - A

Are you okay? - A

Molly ignored the messages. She pulled a blanket around her body and stared at the ceiling. Would Anthea hate her for this? Was it even worth the trouble, having a child?

Her mobile suddenly started chiming. With a slight hesitation, she answered it. 

"Hey, are you okay?" Anthea said hurriedly. "Molly..."

"I'm fine." Molly said, her voice tight, a lump forming in her throat. "Just tired. Sorry to worry you."

She heard her breathe a sigh of relief. "Is it the pregnancy? How did your appointment go?"

Molly tried to push down the ache in her chest. If she said it, she wouldn't have to hide it or worry about it. "They think I'm infertile." She said slowly. "The test...it was a false positive. I'm so sorry. I've ruined everything..." A small sob escaped her. 

"I'll be right over." Anthea said. "Just, stay there. Mycroft owes me several times over; let me talk with him and then I'll be there. Love you."

"Love you too." Molly murmured, but the line had already gone dead. 

***

Thirty minutes later, Anthea was entering the flat and dropping everything. She found Molly on the sofa and instantly pulled her into her arms. 

"It's going to be okay, my dear." Anthea murmured as she pulled her onto her chest. 

"No, it's not. I've ruined our chances of having..."

"You have not ruined anything, Molly. There are other ways to have children. We can adopt. None of this is your fault, okay? You have not angered me. I am not upset." Anthea stroked Molly's hair and kissed her forehead. "Maybe this is a sign that we have more to give to this world. Hey, we can give a child a home and a chance at life if we adopt. I just want to grow old with you and have a few kids and cats. I do not care about how we come to that conclusion. I will still love you unconditionally."

"You would be okay with adoption?" Molly murmured into her chest. 

"Of course. I was adopted myself. We will work everything out, my love." Anthea let her fingers trace Molly's spine. "I'll talk to Mycroft tomorrow. Right now, let's get you some tea and some dinner, okay?"

Anthea pressed a soft kiss to Molly's lips before disentangling herself so that she could go make dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	173. Family Likenesses (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise that I will start using your prompts, but I wanted to write this first. 
> 
> Credit goes to bbcsherlockheadcanon.tumblr.com for headcanon #5314. I saw it and I just had to write it. 
> 
> Enjoy. :)

John's nose was hit with the strong scent of chemicals as he entered the flat. He was immediately transported, in his mind, back to a university chemistry course and an experiment that ended in an evacuation of the room. 

Ammonia. He hated it, the smell. He tried to avoid it whenever possible. As a doctor, however, this avoidance was rarely possible. He thought that he would at least have some solace at home. Apparently not. 

He checked the kitchen and the sitting area. The bedroom was devoid of any detectives. The WC was the only remaining room. 

"Sherlock!" He called. "You had better not be filling the tub with ammonia. I don't want to have to evacuate again."

He heard something crash as Sherlock scrambled to lock the door. "Don't come in here, John." Sherlock replied. 

"Are you hurt? Sherlock, just open the door." 

John heard a huff from behind the door, then the door swung open...

Sherlock was wearing a large shirt and had a black paste covering his hair. He held a hair coloring brush in his gloved hands. 

"Are you...dying your hair?" John laughed as he met the glare of his roommate. 

"Yes, John. Is there something wrong with that? Many men dye their hair." Sherlock retorted as the kitchen timer that he had set dinged. He proceeded to lean his head over the tub and wash the mixture from his hair. "I can tell you that Anderson is actually quite grey. Has been for years."

John smiled, but another question popped into his mind. "So what color is your hair? Surely you aren't grey..."

Then John's eyes dropped to Sherlock's hips. His pubic hair would be...he pushed the thought from his mind. He was not going to think about his flatmate's pubic regions. 

Sherlock hesitated for a moment as he wrapped his hair in a towel. "You must never tell anyone. I can and might kill you." He then sighed. "It is auburn."

John stifled a laugh as Sherlock glared at him. "So, you have your brother's hair? What's the big deal?"

"No one takes me seriously with red hair. I seem more imposing like this. Now, can we never speak of this again?" 

John smiled, but agreed.

***

Six months later, as Sherlock and John basked in the change of their relationship as they lounged in their bed, John found another likeness. 

All across Sherlock's back were there tiny freckles. 

John smiled, but kept his thoughts to himself as he listened to Sherlock's even breaths. 

The Holmes brothers were definitely more alike than they knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	174. Like Magic (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to MyLittleSecret for this suggestion. I really enjoyed writing this. I shall call it the "Warlock AU". (Get it?)
> 
> Let me know if you have any ideas on how to expand this world. 
> 
> Enjoy. :)

The stench of nicotine filled the air and the beat of the drum reverberated in the chests and ears of the audience.

Sherlock inhaled his cigarette deeply before exhaling a puff of smoke rings into the air. He gazed at the other concert-goers on the lawn. Some were sitting, chatting as they waited for the band that they had come to see. Others danced enthusiastically and threw their necks back as they felt the performance in every core of their being.

Sherlock sighed to himself as he crushed the cigarette into the grass with his black combat boot. Humans were so...predictable.

The summer heat bore down upon the crowd, and Sherlock too felt beads of sweat begin to form on his body. Much to the pleasure of some of the young women at the concert, he removed his shirt. With a snap of his fingers, he transported his shirt back to his flat. Yes, being a warlock had its perks. 

With the absence of his shirt, a large tattoo that expanded his back was revealed. To any human, it was simply a tattoo of a phoenix, rising from the ashes, its orange wings spread across his shoulders. To anyone else, the phoenix was his companion, an outer representation of his soul’s desires. It danced across his skin as it so fancied. Sherlock could not control the phoenix; he could only follow along with its whims, most of which pertained to his destiny or something like that.

It was an annoying pain in his arse, really.

Literally, there was a burning pain in his arse from where it had bitten him.

He sighed and gazed at his surroundings. Surely Phoenix wanted him to see…

Then, he saw him. Another warlock. He was blond, and had deep blue eyes that seemed to sparkle. He had a slight frown on his face as he glanced at the dragon that was on his chest. His eyes suddenly met Sherlock’s and he felt himself being drawn to the man. Well, in actuality, Phoenix had migrated to his chest and was pulled him towards the other warlock.

Finally, they stood face to face. 

“Hi,” Sherlock smiled forcefully. “Sorry to bother you, but my phoenix seems to like your dragon.”

“I see that. I’m John.” He extended and shook his hand as the dragon emitted a happy whine. The phoenix returned the call and shot a fireball at the dragon, who returned it. The two creatures continued to play catch until Sherlock cleared his throat.

“They like each other, don’t they? I’m Sherlock.” He said nervously. “I have met very few warlocks, aside from myself, so I was wondering if you wanted to…”

“Whatever it is, yes.” John smiled. And the rest was history.

***

“So, how did you two meet?” asked Molly Hooper at their wedding. “You’ve never told anyone.”

“Well, we had similiar tattoos…” John said.

“It was like some magical connection had been made.” Sherlock responded. 

Only John was able to detect the brief flicker of a phoenix’s flame in Sherlock’s eyes before they resumed the iridescent hue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	175. Rough Days (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is pure fluff that was suggested some time ago by lion_62. (I know you all are most likely sick of all of the fluffy fics, so I apologize.)
> 
> Enjoy. :)

John was having a terrible day, Sherlock realized, as his doctor dragged himself through the door of 221B. Blood spatters covered his shirt and he looked exhausted. 

“Hey,” Sherlock said aloud. “Rough day? Want me to make some tea?” He gracefully stood and began putting the kettle on the stove. John sat at the table and pressed his palms to his eye sockets.

“I was just leaving when there was a car accident in front of the clinic. A cyclist pulled out in front of a car...it wasn’t pretty. I had to send another patient to a specialist. It was a little boy and it is probably cancer. I just- I’m going to take a shower. The tea should be done by then and we can order takeout or something.”

John stood and Sherlock stalked towards him, pulling him into an embrace and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“Thank you,” John whispered at the gesture before going to his shower. As soon as John had closed the door, Sherlock sprinted upstairs, to John’s old room. He had an idea.

***

After a rather long shower, John emerged to hear the sounds of furniture scraping the floor. Reluctantly, he dressed in his pj’s and exited into the front room...where he found that the table and chairs had been pushed aside and in their place was a mattress. Pillows covered its surface and Sherlock was returning from the kitchen with two fresh cups of tea. He set them on the floor and pulled John into a warm embrace. 

“I thought you could use a cuddle in front of some mind-numbing tele. I ordered Thai. It should be here in a few minutes.” Sherlock lowered their bodies onto the mattress, letting John rest his head on his heart. 

Gently, Sherlock carded his fingers through John’s hair and ran a soothing trail with his other hand up and down John’s back. The tension seemed to melt under Sherlock’s ministrations and soon the man was dozing on his chest.

Only to be awoken by the door buzzer. 

Sherlock jumped to his feet and quickly went to pay for the food. He sat it on the table and went to get the utensils and to refresh their teas. After eating, they again settled into their previous positions, John on Sherlock’s chest. 

“You are the best boyfriend ever.” John slurred into Sherlock’s shoulder.

“You deserve this and so much more, John Watson.” Sherlock whispered. “I would give you the stars if I could. My love for you is vast, infinite.”

“I didn’t know you were such a romantic.” John murmured. He yawned and closed his eyes. Sleep was quickly encroaching upon him. “I love you too. Thank you for this.”

Sherlock soon followed his lover into a blissful slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	176. Vaughn (Anthooper)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like Oprah. You get a baby, and you get a baby, and everyone gets a child! (Thank you all for the multiple suggestions as to how a baby should appear. I used a combination of ideas from lion_62 and MyLittleSecret.)
> 
> Okay, so this is dark at the end and I am sorry for the last two words. 
> 
> Don't hate me.

The sound of the thunderstorm was only overpowered by the sound of shells dropping and the screams of the inhabitants in the small African village. 

Anthea checked another home for any signs of life. They could still evacuate the ones who were alive. 

This house was deserted. She moved to the next one. 

After evacuating a few more villagers, she arrived at the last hut. Over the noise outside, she almost didn't hear the soft cries of a child. 

"Hello?" She crept into the room, shining her flashlight. The face of a terrified toddler was illuminated. She quickly lifted him into her arms, trying to calm him. "Hey, big boy. We're going to get you out of here." She cooed as she searched for any sign...

Then she caught sight of a photograph on the floor and of a woman's still form in the corner of the room. She gave the flashlight to the toddler, who proceeded to throw it towards the doorway. In any case, she gently pressed a hand to the woman's neck. No pulse. 

She picked up the photograph and left with the child. 

***

The child had no family; well, no one had claimed him. And Anthea could not keep her mind off of him. He needed a family.

As soon as the mission was over, Mycroft was busy trying to secure adoption papers. It went through without a hitch. 

***

Anthea gently patted the head of the boy as he slept in her lap on the plane back to London. She pulled the photograph from her files, finally having a chance to look at it. She could not believe her eyes. 

Vaughn and Mummy. 

The annotation on the back was written in a cursive script. 

She again flipped the photo over. In the image, a baby smiled at his mother, his darkened skin a contrast to hers. The baby was reaching for the person behind the camera and the woman smiled, finally happy. 

The scene was generic for a family photo. 

No, what shocked Anthea was that the woman was someone whom she thought had died long ago: Irene Adler.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	177. Explanations (Anthooper)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here is a continuation from yesterday's cliffhanger. :) I am also including a continuation to this chapter where Molly finally meets the baby!
> 
> Enjoy. :)

Mycroft and Anthea sat in the car with the new baby sleeping in his car seat between them as they returned from the airport.

“So, the mission was not an evacuation mission. It was a rescue mission. A failed one.” Anthea murmured as she still held the photograph. “You knew that Ms. Adler was going to be there. If we had been sooner, we could have saved…

 

Mycroft cleared his throat and gently took his sister’s hand, squeezing it. “Miss Adler was an informant for us on the African front. She provided us information. We protected her. And her family. She fell in love with a soldier. They tried settling down, under the radar, but the army that he left tracked them one night as she returned from a mission. He was killed, and she had to flee with a baby in tow. She asked us to help her. And we did. We helped her go under the radar, but they again found her trail.” Mycroft paused as he took Anthea’s mobile, as well as his own, and removed the batteries. “On the record,” he whispered into her ear. “Miss Adler died yesterday as a result of shrapnel from the bombings. She had no child, never had one. Her body was so badly mangled that she was unidentifiable except for her DNA; her identity was confirmed by a British medical examiner. Off the record, she is now a Canadian businesswoman named Susan who does desk work at the British embassy. She wanted us, first and foremost, to protect him.” He gestured at the sleeping child. “She knows that I am placing him in capable hands. She will likely not search for him; she will receive updates on his life through my contacts. Your job is to protect this child and give him a safe environment to grow.” 

Mycroft squeezed her hand again before dropping it. “But Molly felt guilty about not-”

“Let me handle Miss Hooper as well.” He murmured as the car pulled up to the flat. He flashed her a reassuring smile as he opened the door and tried to maneuver the carrier out of the car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	178. Warm Hearts (Anthooper)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Molly finally meets baby Vaughn! Cuteness and a bit of angst ensues. :)
> 
> Enjoy. :)

Molly heard the key in the lock and jumped to her feet. Anthea was finally home! She had left a week prior with no explanation. The only contact that they had was a quick text saying that everything was fine and that she was coming home.Molly quickly scrambled to put the tea on and turned to greet her girlfriend…

Only to find Mycroft Holmes standing in the front room, holding a baby carrier no less. Anthea stood beside him, silently arguing for him to let her hold the baby. He finally relented with a sigh and Anthea lifted the baby from the carrier. 

“Good afternoon, Anthea, Mycroft. Would you like some tea?” Molly smiled as the two nodded. She kissed Anthea on the cheek and gestured for Mycroft to sit. Anthea took the sofa, letting the child sleep on her chest.

Once the tea was done, Molly set three mugs on the table and sat beside her girlfriend.   
“So, would anyone care to explain the baby? He is adorable. Can I hold him?” Anthea gently transferred him to Molly. He stirred slightly, but went back to sleep.

“Well, Miss Hooper, I have a proposition for you and Anthea. This child- his name is Vaughn- was recently orphaned. He is the son of one of my former operatives and he has no other family. Because of his family and connections to us, we must take absolute care with the home in which he is placed. I have looked at your records and you are certified to foster children until they are adopted. I was hoping that you could foster him. Of course, all expenses will be covered. I trust no one else more with this duty, so if you could consider…” During Mycroft’s speech, Vaughn awakened, his brown eyes large and interested in his surroundings. He grabbed at Molly’s face, tugging at her ears and nose. 

Finally, he smiled and shouted, “Mama.”, before standing on wobbly in her lap and wrapping his around around her neck. Molly smiled at him, then at Anthea, and finally at Mycroft.

“Actually,” she began. “Anthea and I were looking to adopt. If it is alright with you, I would like to adopt him, if Anthea’s okay with that?” She looked at her girlfriend, who nodded with a smile. 

Mycroft then stood, straightening his jacket. “Well then, that settles things. I will have the paperwork sent here tomorrow afternoon, along with the supplies for his care. Thank you both for this. Anthea, if you will step outside with me for a moment to discuss some things.”

The two left the flat, stepping just outside the door. 

“I am sorry that I had to deceive her slightly, but I wanted to make sure that she made the decision and choice of her own free will. Her self-esteem is also higher because she thinks that it was her idea. Now, we can all have a happy ending.” Mycroft smiled as he ruffled his sister’s hair. She swatted it away. “Now, go spend some time with your son.”

“Thank you,” she said as she opened the door again. “You are one of the best brothers in the world.”

Mycroft sighed as he leaned against the wall. He needed a smoke. At the bottom of the stairs, a woman in sunglasses held out one to him. She then offered him a light and they got into the waiting car.

“Now, Miss Alder, we have a few things to discuss. We have followed your requests. Let us begin. Tell us what you know.” Mycroft’s smile was cold enough to freeze the heart of anyone who saw it. He hated this part of the job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	179. Static (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To Holly, who wished to see John's PTSD to make a surprise appearance. :)
> 
> Sorry that I didn't post yesterday...I went to the doctor to get vaccinations and got a cold, a sore throat, and food poisoning instead. I still feel horrible, but I got several ideas that I want to write. I'll be posting them throughout the week.
> 
> Enjoy. :)

It was a hailstorm of gunfire. The heat of the desert sun upon them was nothing compared to the enemy. 

Pop. Pop. Pop. No, the noises in his ears were so much louder. Bang. Bang! BANG!

John saw a soldier take a hit. Slinging his gun over his shoulder so that his hands were free, he ran. He ran to the body, turning it over. Dread overcame him as he found no pulse, as the blood stained his hands, his uniform, and the sand beneath him. 

His eyes searched the face of the dead man. He needed to tell the man’s family…

Then the enemy was upon him, their guns in his face. Backup was in the distance, but they were too late. He tried to shout, to warn them, but that dreaded noise silenced him.

Bang. Bang! BANG!

***

John jumped as he was thrust back into reality. Where was he? He smelt fire, gunsmoke, blood. He searched for some semblance of familiarity, but reality and his subconscious had yet to differentiate themselves. He was blind to the actions around him. Well, all except for the strong arms that wrapped around his shoulders.

Something was draped around him, a coat? The scent was comforting, reminding him of home. Sherlock. Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson’s biscuits. Sherlock. Tea. Adrenaline. Happiness. Sherlock. The warmth that had been pressed against him had faded though and he instantly missed it.

He was able to calm himself enough to take in his surroundings, though his body was still trembling. A suspect lay unconscious and bloody on the pavement of the warehouse. Sherlock stood a few feet from John, speaking with Lestrade and watching over his flatmate and lover. Seeing that things were being attended, Sherlock strode to John, wrapping his arms around the man. 

“I’m sorry. I should have known that the fireworks going off might trigger something.” Sherlock murmured in his ear. “Let’s go back to the flat, yeah? We can watch some romantic comedy or go to sleep if you want. I’ll make tea and any food that you want.”

John’s mouth did not want to move; words would not form. He looked pleadingly at Sherlock, but Sherlock understood. He helped John stand - his limp had returned for the moment- and they both walked to the nearest cab. John was in the right hands.

***

After watching some mindless film on a laptop, John and Sherlock retired to their bedroom, Sherlock wrapping his arms around his soldier and pressing soft kisses to his face. John relaxed as they progressed, closing his eyes to enjoy the sensation.

“I’m sorry that this happened.” John murmured. “I’m broken. I should have been able to stop him instead of freaking out-”

“Shhh…” Sherlock whispered. “John, you are not broken. Do not be sorry that this happened. You are one of the strongest men that I know. Having mental disorder does not make you weak. You are able to continue living with it, and that makes you more strong than you know. So what if you didn’t catch the bad guy? Lestrade and I were able to handle it. We will have good days and bad days and sometimes, we will have days when nothing goes wrong or right. I am still going to be here for you for all of those days.”

“I love you.” John whispered after several silent moments. 

“I love you too. Now get some rest.” Sherlock pressed a final kiss to his lover’s forehead before they both drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	180. Perfect (Mystrade)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Charlie_Bucket wanted some Mystrade misunderstandings and angst. Here you go. :) I will continue this in the next chapter. Who wants to see things being thrown? :)
> 
> I am sorry about not posting yesterday. I was more sick than I thought I was. I am still not 100%, but one must soldier on!
> 
> Enjoy. :)

Mycroft watched the security cameras once more. He had watched it again and again, trying to come up with some logical conclusion. He found one. 

Greg was cheating on him. 

The video, as well as several others from the previous week, showed Greg disappearing into the flat of one Sally Donovan. He would emerge several hours later and would come home with the scent of perfume on his jacket. 

Now that Mycroft had enough evidence, and a logical conclusion, he was going to ask Greg to leave in a less-than-kind manner. He singlehandedly packed Gregory's things into several bags, setting them by the door. Then, he poured himself a glass of scotch and waited. 

***

Greg sighed as he exited Sally’s flat. He always came out of it smelling like a perfume department. She had a bowl of that potpourri stuff right beside the coat rack. He hated the smell of it. It reminded him of his wife. 

He shook the thought and smiled to himself as he pressed his hand to the pocket of his jacket. He could feel the small box just underneath the fabric. The final piece of his plan.

He had wanted to make the proposal perfect. He was going to take Mycroft to dinner, followed by a stroll through the park. Then, once they reached the predetermined place, Greg would get down on one knee and Sally would be filming everything. 

Why had he turned to Sally? Well, she had minored in event planning in university and she had virtually no interaction with Mycroft. He loved John and Sherlock and Molly and Anthea, but none of them could pass under Mycroft’s gaze without raising some suspicion of the secret. Mycroft, given even a hint of suspicious behavior, would not rest until he knew the secret.

Luckily for Greg, he only had to hide it until tomorrow. He had arranged for both of them to have the next few days off. Excited for the proceedings, he walked with a spring in his step to his car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	181. Imperfect (Mystrade)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fixed it! I'm just including a warning of an intoxicated Mycroft who throws things. 
> 
> Thank you to Charlie_Bucket for this suggestion. :)
> 
> Enjoy. :)

Something shattered above Greg’s head as he entered the flat. He ducked as another object - a glass? - hit him in the shoulder. It feel to the floor, cracking into shards. He heard footsteps running to the kitchen.

“Myc?” He called as he walked cautiously down the hall, towards the kitchen. He noticed suitcases on the floor, but focused more on the person who was gathering more glassware to throw at his head. 

Slowly, he opened the kitchen door. Mycroft stood with an arm poised to throw a dish. 

“Myc. It’s just me. It’s Greg. What’s going on?” He entered the room and closed the door behind him. He pressed his back up against the door.

“You should know damn well, you bastard.” Greg’s eyes widened. Mycroft never cursed; he was extremely angry at Greg. Upon closer inspection, Greg noticed his red, swollen eyes. He had been crying.

“C’mon now. Let’s talk this out like adults. I’ll make some tea, so long as you haven’t destroyed all our cups.” Greg chuckled at his joke, only to be stopped by the cold glare that Mycroft was giving him. If looks could kill, Greg would have been a dead man. 

"I don't want to talk." Mycroft scowled but still sat at the kitchen counter. His words were slightly slurred. Oh god, he was drunk. How was Greg going to handle this?

Greg made two mugs of tea and sat across from Mycroft. Mycroft was tracing the design on the countertop with his finger, avoiding Greg's gaze. 

"I want you to leave," he murmured. "As much as it pains me, I cannot stay in this relationship when you have clearly expressed interest in someone else and have this broken my trust. I packed your bags. I expect you-"

"Now wait a minute. Myc, I haven't 'expressed interest' in anyone but you." 

"Then why have you been seeing Sally?" Mycroft slammed his fist onto the table, his voice raw and broken. "I have the video. You have gone into her residence six times in the past two weeks. You come home with the scent of a woman's perfume on your jacket. You've appeared to be in a better mood on the days that you see her. I know that you are friends, but you have deviated from the average number of times that you see her. Now, get out."

Mycroft stood and wobbled on his feet. 

"Myc," Greg moved to steady him, his eyes soft. "You've misunderstood. Please, give me two minutes to explain, okay?"

Mycroft sighed, but let Greg led him back to a chair.

"I was visiting Sally because she was helping me. I wanted to surprise you." Greg began. "I'm terrible at planning things and she studied event planning at uni. I didn't want to tell John or Sherlock or Anthea or Molly because they would have tipped you off. So I asked Sally. The reason that my jacket smells is because she had that potpourri stuff and it leaves traces on everything. Look, I guess the surprise is thoroughly spoiled now, so I'll just do it now."

Greg pulled the box from his pocket and got down on one knee. "Mycroft Holmes, I have fallen head over heels for you. I don't see how you could put up with an idiot like me. As you have seen, I'm not perfect. I can royally make a mess of things. You are the most flawless individual that I know and I love you. I love your freckles and your smile and when you sneeze and when you fall asleep on my chest. You captivate me with every little thing that you do and, most of the time, you leave me breathless. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, if you'll let me. Will you marry me?"

Mycroft covered his mouth, tears forming in his eyes. His knees gave out and he fell into Greg's arms. 

"I'm sorry. I got it all wrong." Mycroft murmured. "Please, forgive me."

"It's all forgiven, Myc. I'm sorry for making you worry." Greg leaned back against the cabinets, letting Mycroft curl up against his chest. 

"It's fine. We fixed it." Mycroft whispered. He buried his face into Greg's neck and drifted off to sleep. Greg did his best to try to carry him to their bedroom, but he settled for the sofa. He set the box on the coffee table and drifted off to sleep with Mycroft in his arms.

***

Greg awoke with a sore neck and with his arms devoid of one boyfriend. The scent of food filled the air, and he cautiously entered the kitchen, finding Mycroft in an apron. He was finishing an omelette for himself and smiled at Greg. 

"It's seems that I never gave you a proper answer last night. I apologize for my intoxicated state, Gregory."

Greg smiled and pressed a kiss to Mycroft's chin. "It's all fine. Though, I would like an answer..."

"Yes. The answer is yes." Mycroft grinned as he was pulled into a fierce kiss. He broke the kiss and pushed Greg towards the food. "Eat your breakfast. Then we can celebrate properly."

Greg took Mycroft's hand and they sat eat their food. 

The proposal had been perfect in its own flawed, ridiculous way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	182. Double Dates (Johnlock) (Mira)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I imagined John and Sherlock finding Mira at a dance club while on a date. This is what happened in my head. 
> 
> Sorry about all of the sexualities. If anyone is confused, just ask in the comments and I can explain them. 
> 
> Enjoy. :)

The music pulsed and reverberated in her chest. Mira took in the sight. Bodies moved with and against each other, a sea of people, interacting like the crashing waves on the shore. 

She caught the eyes of some and walked confidently to the bar. She ordered a water. Several of her classmates were there, laughing in their conversation. 

They immediately gave her the cold shoulder. 

She took a seat in a corner and watched as couples clung to each other. She was lonely, yes. Koby had a boyfriend and seemed to have no time for her. Sure, she wanted a partner and had tried dating, but as soon as the words "asexual" came into the conversation, everyone, guys and girls and the non-binary individuals, left. 

She sipped at her water, then stood to leave. Then, she noticed him. A boy with purple streaks in his brown hair. He wore all black; the only color on his body originated from a bright blue tattoo. He was walking towards her. Suddenly, he stopped, doubting himself. He again gathered his courage and strode towards her table. 

"Uh, hi. I saw that you were all alone over here and I was wondering if you wanted to dance? I'm Tyler, by the way."

"I'm Mira, and I would love-"

"To go home. She is grounded." said a familiar voice from behind her. She turned to see both of her fathers. They seemed unhappy. 

"Dad, Father," Mira sighed. "I thought you were on a case."

"Yes, we were. We finished it and thought that you would be old enough to behave yourself long enough for us to have a date night. Then what do we see as we enter a club? Our daughter drinking...what? Then she's-"

"John, it's water." Sherlock mumbled. "And she is old enough to behave. She is an adult, legally. She can drink if she wishes. She can date whomever she wants. Judging by my deductions, this young man will be better than the last one. He falls on the asexuality scale. They have similar tastes in music, movies, and books. Did I get that right?" Sherlock placed a calming hand on John's shoulder. 

Tyler stared at Sherlock in awe. "That was brilliant. Is he really your dad? Can you do that too?"

Mira blushed and smiled at him. "Yep. If my dads will allow it, I would like that dance."

Sherlock looked at John, who reluctantly nodded. "You have a 1 AM curfew. We will need to have a discussion tomorrow. Enjoy your night. " Sherlock patted his husband on the back and kissed his cheek. 

"Don't wait up for us." Sherlock grinned as he ushered John out of the club. 

"That was...interesting." Mira smirked at Tyler. "So, you're ace?"

"No. I'm demisexual, but no one knows what it is. I am sick of having to explain it." Tyler grinned at her. "Dating is horrid."

"I can attest to that. Can I get you a nonalcoholic beverage?" Mira and Tyler claimed a table in the corner and he walked her back to Baker Street. They were only five minutes past her curfew. 

John and Sherlock, however, did not get home until six in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	183. Care (Anthooper)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to write something where Molly was sick and where Anthea tells Sherlock off for being annoying. 
> 
> I have a few ideas for my next post. So, which one do you all want: angst, fluff, or a bit of smut?
> 
> Enjoy. :)

Molly smiled at the sleeping baby in her arms. Vaughn had been fussy; he had just gone to sleep. 

She ran her fingers through her hair and rubbed her face. She felt terrible, as if she were coming down with something. It wouldn't surprise her though; Vaughn had brought a cold back from the day care. 

She sighed as she got up to put him in the crib, placing a kiss on his forehead. At least his fever had broken. 

She went into the kitchen to make tea.

***

Anthea found Molly lying on the sofa. She was shivering, though the London heat made the flat quite stuffy. Anthea pressed a kiss to her forehead. Molly was burning up. She coughed in her sleep. 

Anthea immediately called in for a few days of vacation and then tried to get her girlfriend into the bed. 

***

Buzzing. What was buzzing?

Molly's head was fuzzy as she searched for the noise. It echoed in her ears and sent waves of pain through her skull. 

Blindly, she searched, finding her phone. 

"Molly, where are you? I need those results." Sherlock was on the other line. Great. She needed to get to the morgue. 

Suddenly, as she moved to sit up, she was gently pushed back down and the phone was removed from her grasp. 

"Sherlock. This is Anthea. Yes, Molly is sick. She won't be there for a few days. If you need test results so bad, why don't you go pester the other medical examiners? Look, she needs to recover and her phone will be off. You may be my brother, but she is my top priority. Unless you need anything else, goodbye."

Anthea sat beside Molly on the bed, running her fingers through her hair. Molly sighed into the touch; it felt nice. 

"Thanks," she mumbled as he buried herself in the sheets. "I feel horrible."

"I know. Colds are the worst." Anthea pressed a kiss to her hair. "I'll be here though. I'll make sure that everything gets better."

Molly allowed the reassurance and the soft fingers in her hair soothe her to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	184. Forget Me Not (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, you all wanted angst and fluff and smut! Well, you get two posts in the same sitting! Here is the first one.
> 
> This is my angst-of-the-day and it will be continued. Do not hate me for what I do to John. There will be a happy ending.
> 
> Enjoy. :)

Neither of them had seen the accomplice coming. They had been focused on the suspect, the heavily armed suspect who had several guns on him. They had paid no mind to the woman with the wrench until she had hit John in the head. 

Sherlock had been able to shoot her in the leg and “subdue” the two until Lestrade had arrived, well, he had hit both of them with the same wrench until they were both unconscious. Then, he had tended to John.

John. John was unconscious and bleeding. Sherlock pressed his scarf to the wound and had called for an ambulance. John was breathing, but the blood was everywhere. He felt the panic set in. John couldn’t die. He wouldn’t leave Sherlock, not after everything. He had said that he loved him…

The ambulance soon arrived and then the doctor was being whisked away to the hospital whilst Sherlock had to stay behind to give his statement. There wasn’t room for him in the ambulance and he thought it would be easier for the medics to work if he weren’t in the way. 

***

The words did not compute. “Coma” and “John” should never be used in the same sentence when the coma is referring to John. 

“What do you mean?”

“He sustained an injury to his skull. We were able to stabilize him, but we do not know the extent of the damage. Currently, he is in a comatose state. He is showing brain activity, so we just have to wait for him to wake up. Good day, Mr. Holmes.” Then the doctor left. 

Sherlock was left alone with his thoughts and the beep of a heart monitor.

***

Sherlock was just returning from Baker Street - Gavin had forced him to go shower and get something to eat. - when he noticed the flutter of eyelids. He immediately paged a nurse. 

He then returned to John’s side, taking his hand and hoping, praying, that he was alright. John’s eyes fluttered several times before finally remaining open. He appeared confused, looking around at his surroundings and finally at Sherlock.

“It’s okay, John. You’re in the hospital. You were attacked by one of suspect’s accomplices. You’ve been in a coma for a few days, but I am so happy that you are awake now. I thought I lost you and-” Sherlock searched John’s eyes, hoping to see... something. John was frowning.

“I’m sorry, but who are you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	185. Pulse (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second post! I give you: the prelude to smut. I will continue this tomorrow. ;)
> 
> If there is any particular *cough* thing that you want to see in it, let me know and I'll try my best. 
> 
> Enjoy. :)

Thump. Tha-thump. Tha-thump. 

Sherlock tried to calm his racing heart. He was going to do it. He was...

He couldn't. What if he ruined everything? What if John left or got frightened? What if he liked it?

Sherlock ran his fingers through his hair and let his head fall onto the kitchen table. He had to; if he didn't, he might explode. Or might make something in the flat explode. The microwave was a nice choice. 

"You okay there?" He heard the grin in John's voice. 

"Bored." Sherlock replied out of habit. His pulse thrummed. John ran his fingers through his curls and Sherlock sighed into the touch. All too soon, the sensation was gone. 

John had moved to make tea. 

"We can watch a movie," John suggested. "I've got some DVDs. It will be fun. Yesterday's case was rough and you need to relax a bit."

Sherlock agreed. He needed to relax. 

***

Sherlock sat beside John on the sofa as the movie began. It was a horror movie. Sherlock hated them; he disliked the jumpscares. But, John liked them.

The movie did nothing to calm his heart. He was turning into a nervous wreck. One particular jumpscare startled him, and John grabbed his hand and squeezed it. 

"You okay?" He whispered as he moved closer to Sherlock. "We can put on a different movie, if you'd like."

Sherlock's pulse skyrocketed and he hoped that John couldn't feel it. He found himself staring at John's mouth. How would that mouth feel on his skin? His skin burned where John touched him. 

Oh, fuck it. 

Sherlock's body surged forward of its own accord, pressing a kiss to John's cheek, because John had turned away from Sherlock momentarily. 

Sherlock pulled away, suddenly embarrassed. Heat flooded his face as his lowered his eyes. 

"Oh Sherlock," John giggled. "Is this what's been bothering you?"

"I like you, John. Whenever I'm around you, my heart does this weird thing and I really just want to do everything with you. I want to kiss you, touch you, hold you... I'm sorry. I should leave."

"Sherlock," John smiled as he grabbed Sherlock’s arm and pulled him back onto the sofa. He cupped Sherlock's cheek in one hand and used the other to guide Sherlock’s hand to his beating heart. Sherlock could feel a beat similar to his own under the thin fabric of his shirt. “I feel the same way.”

Sherlock froze, staring at the doctor until John leaned forward to kiss him gently on the mouth. Sherlock sighed into it, letting his eyes flutter shut as John pulled him close to deepen the kiss. Relief washed over him; John wanted him, wanted to be with him. For entirely different reasons, he felt like he was going to burst, this time from the warmth and joy that flooded his chest. 

As they separated in order to breathe, John rested his forehead against Sherlock’s. “If you want, we can continue this in the bedroom.” He smiled as he placed a chaste kiss on Sherlock’s nose. 

Sherlock could not drag his doctor into the nearest bedroom fast enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	186. Lust (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I give you: my poor attempt at smut. My friend tried to give me lessons, but I'm not sure exactly how well I wrote this. 
> 
> Enjoy.

The light from the street lamps streamed through the window, casting a golden hue on the two men. 

"Are you sure about this?" John asked as he took Sherlock's hands.

"Yes. I want this. I want you." Sherlock smiled as he brought their lips together. Sherlock's hands found a place on the nape of John's neck as John's hands were in his curls. They fought for dominance as the kiss deepened and they tried to get closer to each other. 

John pushed them backwards until Sherlock's knees hit the bed. When they broke the kiss, John was straddling Sherlock's lap and both of them were panting. 

"Allow me," Sherlock murmured as he began to undo John's shirt at an achingly slow pace. His lips found John's pulse and he nipped at the skin, bringing forth a moan from John. John held onto Sherlock's shoulders in order to steady himself. 

As soon as his shirt was unbuttoned, John threw it across the room and found Sherlock's mouth. He unbuttoned several of the buttons, then tried to pull it over Sherlock's head, causing the detective's upper body to be trapped. Sherlock whimpered as he felt John's hands on his skin, his fingers running through the small curls on his chest. 

"Why are your shirts so damn tight? Hold on." John murmured as he again attacked the shirt. He pulled on the fabric and freed the detective, but sent the both of them flying to the floor. 

"I was hoping you would take the hint and rip it off of me." Sherlock smiled as he fell on top of John. His lips found John's collar bone and trailed down to lick at John's scar. He then moved to encircle John's left nipple. John let out another moan.

Sherlock then found himself on his back as John rolled them suddenly. John smiled before sliding his hands down Sherlock's body. He peppered kisses down the man's chest and ground their pelvises together, enjoying the moans elicited by Sherlock. 

Both of them panted and had noticeable bulges tenting their trousers. John separated from Sherlock and met his eyes. 

Time seemed to slow, the lust overshadowed by something deeper. They faced each other on their knees, their hands and mouths exploring, tasting. Trousers and pants were removed with care and both felt the warmth of arousal in their guts. Names became the only words on their breaths as they lost themselves in the pleasure. 

They found themselves on the bed, both of them whimpering and moaning as their cocks and hands slid slickly together. The strokes were slow at first, but they quickly increased until both men were panting. Sherlock's lips found John's as he twisted their hands, eliciting deep moans from their chests. 

"Sherlock, I'm-" John gasped as he came over their stomachs. Sherlock moved his hand faster and quickly added to the mess on their stomachs as they collapsed into a heap of heat and bliss. 

John was able to rise from after a few minutes in order to grab a flannel. He gently wiped the mess from his body and then Sherlock's. Sherlock pulled him into his arms and the flannel was forgotten as the men got lost in each other's eyes. 

"I think I love you, John." Sherlock murmured. 

"I think that I love you too." And then they drifted off to sleep into each other's arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	187. Muscle Memory (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I like the idea of amnesiac John. I think I'll continue with this between some other ideas. 
> 
> Enjoy. :)

"What do you mean?" Sherlock whispered, his voice betraying his composed features. "It's me, Sherlock. Your flat mate for five years. Your partner for one. You don't remember me?"

John shook his head. "I was in the desert. That's the last thing I remember. Look, I'm sorry, but you can find a new partner, right? If you have a business, you need to have more than one partner-"

"Your romantic partner, you idiot." Sherlock's voice was full of anger and frustration. "You said that you loved me. We were going to get married, but then I went and-" Sherlock felt tears forming in his eyes. He glared at John before storming from the room. 

Greg had entered the room during the exchange and he felt sympathetic for the detective. 

"He's in shock," Greg explained to John. "He's only loved a few people in his entire life and now he's lost you, in essence. Five years together, gone. He's grieving. He'll come back." 

A doctor had entered the room by then to examine John. Greg silently left to go find Sherlock. 

***

The doctor said that the amnesia was most likely temporary and that John would start remembering bits and pieces. After a few days of monitoring, they had discharged him into Sherlock's care and the two men returned to Baker Street. 

John immediately started making tea, and Sherlock smiled at the mechanical movements and at John's face. At least he remembered the vital things. 

As soon as they had settled, Greg called from the Yard. A gruesome double murder. Sherlock had grabbed his coat and had swept out of the flat. He did, however, find a blond army doctor by his side. 

The suspect led them on a four-hour chase across the city and through several parks. John managed to tackle the man, and they were soon walking back to the flat, covered in mud. They stopped by a chip stand to get something to eat since they had missed dinner. 

"Why did you follow me?" Sherlock asked as he offered a chip to John. 

John shrugged as he took it, then offered Sherlock a bite of his fish. "I didn't think about it, you know? It just felt...right. It was an impulse, I guess. I felt the need to protect you."

"Muscle memory," Sherlock murmured with a slight smile. "Like riding a bike. You never forget. On some subconscious level, you feel the need to go towards the danger and to protect me."

"You've got a big ego." John grinned as he lightly punched Sherlock's arm. "But those deductions, they were brilliant."

"I've been told." 

They walked in silence until they reached the flat. John went to go clean himself up and Sherlock typed up a message on the blog, letting the readers know John's situation. He was about to go make a mug of tea when he heard the crash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	188. Scars Are Words Written On The Skin (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't leave it alone. I really liked this one and how it evolved (Who knows, I might make it a series next year?). Let me know if you want me to continue this in the future. Tomorrow, we shall have mermen. 
> 
> Enjoy. :)

John took a quick shower. The hot water felt heavenly. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt its scalding, cleansing effects on his skin. As he stepped from the shower, he caught a sight of his reflection in the mirror. 

He felt like he was going to be sick. The scars covered his body and he looked so much older than he remembered. His skin was wrinkled at the mouth and on his forehead. He no longer had the physique of a soldier. He suddenly felt extremely self-conscious. What had happened to him?

His fingers drifted to the star-shaped mark over his heart. The skin was numb and tough. He tried to remember the desert, his last moments before waking in the hospital bed.

There had been an insurgent attack; some soldiers were injured and he went on ahead to help them. The sun was hot and blinding. 

He heard yelling, and then there was blood. So much blood. He heard screams and watched as his fellow soldiers were brought down by the gunfire. He tried to run to help them, but a searing pain in his chest sent him to the ground. Then everything became dark. 

***

"Shhhh. It's okay. It was just a memory. It can't hurt you anymore." A soothing voice murmured. 

John opened his eyes. His face was soaked with tears. He was on the ground, his head in Sherlock's lap. Sherlock was gently stroking his hair. 

"What happened to me? I don't remember anything. How did I become this person? I hate not knowing. I feel like I am in the dark on everything." John whispered as he sat up and pressed himself into Sherlock's comforting chest. 

"So many things have happened over the years. I've been with you for most of them. I assume you remember being shot in Afghanistan. May I propose something?"

John nodded as he felt warm arms encircle him. Sherlock's body heat seeped into his bare skin. 

"Scars are like words on your skin. They tell a physical story even if memories fade. We can walk through all of them. Maybe we can trigger memories. I hate this as much as you do. It took me two years to get you to fall in love with me. I will do it again if necessary. But, as you always say, I am an impatient bastard." Sherlock smiled as his arm traced down John's back. "You are my best friend and I just want you back to who you were."

"If you think it will work." John sighed as he dropped his head onto Sherlock's chest. "Let me stay here just a bit longer."

***

John and Sherlock stood in front of the mirror, Sherlock resting his chin on John's good shoulder as he traced his fingers along John's body as they landed on scars. 

On his hands. "This scar on your knuckles is from punching me in the face for a case. I had to pretend to need medical assistance."

On his left side, just below his rib. "Here, you got stabbed trying to save me from a junkie who had murdered three people."

Just above his collarbone. "You fell into the Thames and I had to jump in and save you. I had to cut you from your clothes and accidentally got your skin."

On his chest. "You were shot here in the war, but you remember that. You were the only survivor from your squad. I'm sorry."

On his left hand. "You were kidnapped. They broke your fingers to try to get you to talk. You never did. We rescued you."

On his thigh. "A mob group was shooting at us. You were being an idiot and trying to protect me. I pulled you out of the way, but they hit the both of us."

On his back. "Tortured. Kidnapped again. You almost died with me. My brother saved us. You kissed me for the first time after that."

On his arms. "You never talked about them. It think it was from the depression and PTSD. You haven't done that since the first year." 

On his eyebrow. "We got a bit overenthusiastic after a case. You hit your head in a brick wall as I- I think you can get the idea." Sherlock winked at him in the mirror. 

On his neck. "My teeth. Sorry for that one. Our first time together. I bit you. I blame it on the adrenaline."

John relaxed under Sherlock's touch. He could imagine himself doing most, if not all, of those things with this man. He just couldn't remember. He found himself leaning on Sherlock, yawning. 

"Let's put you to bed," Sherlock suggested as he led John to their bedroom. He pulled him some bed clothes from the wardrobe, then gathered his own clothes so that he could shower. "It's been a long day. I'll be on the sofa if you need anything." He watched as John climbed into the bed before turning off the lights and closing the door. 

***

John had a dream that he was running after Sherlock. He had a cane, but lost it at some point on the journey. He shot a cabbie and he dreamt of kissing the detective, dreamt of hands exploring his body and of teeth on his neck.

He awoke as the sun streamed through the windows. His head ached. He wondered if Greg would have a case for them. He hoped that Sherlock had called the clinic. 

Then, his heart leaped. He remembered, not most of the past five years, but he remembered some of it. He remembered Sherlock and how much he loved the man. 

He jumped from the bed with a grin on his face. He was still fuzzy on most parts, but with time, those pieces would become clear. Sherlock had been right in his attempts. 

He walked into the kitchen, finding Sherlock going through the paper. 

"Good morning, John. How did you sleep?"

"Afghanistan or Iraq?" He smiled. Sherlock smiled back and stood to wrap the man in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	189. Shells (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is a bit of Merlock!
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you to MyLittleSecret for this suggestion. Don't worry! I will continue this over several chapters. 
> 
> Enjoy!

The salty, warm air was refreshing on John's face as he gathered shells. He couldn't carry many; his small hands wouldn't allow it. As a boy of seven, he was small for his age. He had to make up the height difference with his temper and a strong left hook. 

As he walked along the beach in front of his family's lighthouse, he noticed something sparkling in the setting sun. He ran towards the iridescent object, finding it wedged between two rocks. 

He touched the scaly surface, finding that the object moved and created noise. Silently, he walked around the rocks and found a boy's face staring at him. His hair was black and soaking wet. His eyes, the same color as his tail?, were pleading. John blinked, then gently helped to free the boy from the rocks. 

After some work, the boy with the tail was on the beach, his tail in the surf. John crouched beside him, looking at him. 

"I'm John," he said finally, a smile on his face and an extended hand. The boy gently touched his arm. 

"I'm Sherlock," a voice said inside John's head. John's eyes widened. "Thank you for saving me."

"It wasn't any trouble. How did you get stuck in the rocks?"

A small grin. "I was trying to see how close I could get to the shore without my brother finding me. A wave caught me and carried me to the rocks. I'm definitely going to be punished."

John frowned. "You can stay here with me and be my friend. We can beat up bullies." 

The iridescent eyes lowered and focused on the sand and the pile of shells that John had dropped in his haste. "I'm sorry, John. I've been missing for almost a day. I need to go back." 

"Can I see you again?" John too lowered his head, suddenly sad. He thought that he could be friends with the strange boy. He had saved his life, surely he wouldn't bully him like the others?

Sherlock smiled. "I would like that. Here," Sherlock selected a singular shell with a hole in the center. He placed it in his palm and pressed his hands together, his eyes and scales glowing white for a moment. "Whenever I am near you, this shell will warm and glow."

As the shell was placed into John's hand, it grew hot and emitted a soft white light. John smiled at Sherlock and Sherlock returned it. 

John helped Sherlock into the water and watched as his friend swam away. The shell cooled in his hand and he sighed. 

"I'll wait. For as long as it takes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	190. Waves (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is a continuation from yesterday. Again, thank you to MyLittleSecret for this suggestion. 
> 
> I should finish this with the next chapter, if any of you have any prompts for me. :)
> 
> Enjoy. :)

John was sixteen when the charm began to glow once more. He knew immediately, as he had it on a piece of twine around his neck. As soon as the darkness had descended and as his parents retired to their bed, he made his way to the beach. 

Sherlock had grown since their last meeting; he had the torso of a lanky teenager and his tail had also lengthened. That's not to say that John had not grown. He had become a short, but strong young man who helped a neighbor during times of planting and harvest. 

Sherlock waited patiently in the surf and smiled as John ran to him, pulling him into an embrace. 

"Missed you." John said in his mind. 

"I missed you too." Sherlock replied. "You've changed."

"You have too. You look more like an adult now." John rolled onto his back so that he could watch the stars. His hand found Sherlock's and their fingers intertwined. "I found another friend, but he's not- It doesn't matter. You're here." They were silent for a few moments. "They want me to marry this girl. Her name is Sarah. She's nice, but I can't see myself with her."

John sighed as he looked at Sherlock. He felt warm where their skin touched. He looked into Sherlock's eyes as they made small talk about their lives. They were able to joke, but the air seemed tense. 

"What's that?" Sherlock finally said, motioning at John's tented trousers. John flushed red as he realized that he had an erection. Sherlock moved his hands towards his trousers and John rolled away. 

"It's nothing," said a flustered John. Sherlock arched an eyebrow, implying that he didn't believe John. 

"Okay, okay. It's a body part. It's used to reproduce. When a male likes someone or when he has the chance to reproduce, he can put this body part inside a female and can get her pregnant."

Sherlock smirked at John as John returned to his side. He took John's hand. 

"So, do you like me?" Sherlock's voice was a whisper in his mind. John nodded, averting his eyes. Sherlock took his chin and forced him to meet his eyes. 

Sherlock gently pressed his lips to John's, and John's heart rate spiked. The kiss deepened, but Sherlock soon pulled away. A figure among the waves was watching them. 

"I have to go," he said with a sadness in his voice. "I don't know when I'll see you again."

"I'll wait for you. Like the last time." John cupped Sherlock's face and kissed him gently. He watched as Sherlock swam away reluctantly; he stayed on the beach until the sun has risen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	191. Waiting (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A continuation from yesterday: this chapter seemed a bit rushed to me, but I didn't know how else to write it. I guess it is the time shift?
> 
> Again, thank you to MyLittleSecret for this suggestion. 
> 
> Enjoy. :)

Five years later, Sherlock again returned. He had spent his time studying the rituals and magic of his people and had become very powerful among the kingdom's elders, more gifted than his brother. His studies had purpose, though. 

He had found a way to become human, and he was excited to tell John. 

He again returned to the shore to wait. Yet, John never came. After three days, Sherlock returned to the sea to think and overcome the ache that had bloomed in his chest. 

***

John sighed as he let the breeze blow through his hair as he manned the ropes. He saw the lighthouse of his childhood as they left the bay for the open seas. His naval commander shouted orders and he quickly obeyed. 

He paid no mind to the warming charm around his neck; he thought it was simply his body heat from the exertion. 

***

After seven years at sea, John still had not forgotten his merman. Every encounter could not compare to that kiss on the sand, and he longed to intertwine his fingers with Sherlock's. With every encounter, he imagined that the man had Sherlock's curls and iridescent eyes. With every encounter, he grew more disappointed and less hopeful of ever seeing him again. 

John sighed as he limped off of the train. He was finally returning home due to an injury involving a privateering ship in Welsh waters. He wondered why he was returning. His parents had died long ago, and Harry had turned to alcohol and had taken a job at the local pub. 

Yet he did not want to sell the lighthouse. He paid someone to maintain it in his absence so that he could return. For what reason though? To waste his remaining years hoping that a dream would reappear?

He found his hand clutching the charm as he stopped in the middle of the station. It was hot. Searing. 

He searched the crowd, looking for anything out of place. His mind must be playing tricks on him. Sherlock was-

He felt a hand on his shoulder. The firm grip urged him to turn. He stumbled a bit with his leg, but his eyes found ones that sparkled like a rainbow. 

"How is this possible?" He murmured as he pulled Sherlock- a human Sherlock- into a hug. 

"I got sick of waiting for you and decided to find you myself." Sherlock grinned as he pressed a kiss into John's hair. "All it took was me finding an advertisement for someone who needed his lighthouse watched."

"You-" John grinned as he buried himself into Sherlock's chest. "I love you. After all these years, it's always been you."

"I love you too, John. Now, let's go home. You can tell me more about these human body parts." John blushed, and the two men giggled as they left the station.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	192. Apart (Mystrade)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sher_locked_22 wanted a fic where Mycroft and Greg have to deal with being apart and where they are reunited. I'll reunite them in the next chapter. I wanted to set up a bit of angst first though. :)
> 
> Enjoy. :)

Mycroft let his head fall into his desk as he sighed in exasperation. Two months. He had not seen his Gregory for two months. To add to it, he couldn't even have a video call that lasted more than five minutes before one of them, mainly Mycroft, was interrupted. 

Gregory had been called to Canada -Canada, of all places!- to train the police forces on how to combat increasing crime rates as a result of population growth. His ability to speak French had made him a prime candidate to aid the Montréal force. Greg, of course, had been sent to Canada a month before, whilst Mycroft had been handling negotiations in Asia. By the time he had returned from his month-long talks, Gregory was already gone. 

Mycroft stared at the screen. Four minutes and eleven seconds. Gregory had been on his lunch break. He looked exhausted. He had bags under his eyes and had that jittery movement of his jaw when he had drank too much coffee. He had been talking about how he was taking cases in addition to training them. Then, someone had shouted for him. Something about an officer down. Greg had pressed a quick kiss to the webcam, telling Mycroft that he loved him before quickly ending the call. 

Wonderful. Just wonderful. Mycroft closed his laptop and retired to his bedroom. He was tired, but not the kind that could be solved with sleep and coffee. No, this exhaustion settled on his heart. He was tired of...everything really. Without Gregory, his life was grey. His life became his boring, dull work and returning to a quiet house and a cold bed that no longer smelled of Gregory. 

He stared at the ceiling for a long time until the first sob was ripped from his chest. It was going to be a long night. 

***

Mycroft was tangled in his sheets when he awoke. The clock read noon. Damn, he was late for work. He threw the sheets from his body. He was drenched in sweat and looked deathly pale as he stumbled into the bathroom. 

He splashed water on his face. His eyes were bloodshot and he looked horrible. The sudden stab of a headache sent him to his knees. 

Anthea was instantly by his side. "Mycroft. You are ill. Get back in bed." Her hands were cool on his hot skin. "I got worried when you did not arrive and would not answer my calls. I called a doctor. He'll be here shortly."

He felt horrible as he allowed her to lead him to the bed. She administered a few tablets for his headache and the fever, but then left to make phone calls and to guide the doctor inside. 

Though the tablets helped him somewhat, Mycroft knew that the best medicine would have been if Gregory had been there to hold him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	193. The Best Medicine (Mystrade)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here is the continuation from the last chapter. This is dedicated to sher_locked_22. 
> 
> Enjoy. :)

Greg got the messages as soon as his plane landed. He had gotten the guys to help him surprise Mycroft. They pretended that there was an emergency and, while Mycroft thought that Greg was going to be there for a few more weeks, Greg was boarding a flight to London. He was going to surprise Mycroft and had texted Anthea to clear their schedules before boarding. He hadn't gotten a response until his plane landed. 

And the responses weren't what he was expecting. 

Mycroft is sick. I need you to get on a flight now. - A

Answer your phone, inspector. - A

Greg. He needs you. - A

Please answer. - A

You had better have a good reason for this. I personally will kill you. - A

That had been hours ago. He grabbed his luggage and noticed the black car waiting for him. He typed out a quick message as he threw everything into the back with him as the driver got onto the road. 

On my way. Ten minutes tops. How is he? - GL

Feverish and refuses to take anything until you get here. Doctor says it's a virus. Should pass. Need him to take medicine to break fever. Think of Sherlock being unreasonable when he is on drugs x 10. - A

Greg's stomach dropped. As soon as the car stopped, he jumped out and sprinted into the house. 

He heard soft cries coming from the bedroom as he threw his jacket onto the banister as he ran up the stairs. He burst into the room and ran to Mycroft's side. He placed a hand on his forehead and pale, exhausted eyes met his. 

"Gregory-" Mycroft murmured. He had a smile on his face. He was hot to the touch. 

"Shh. I'm here. I'm back." Greg crawled onto the bed and Mycroft instantly curled up to his chest, sighing contentedly and closing his eyes. "Hey. Let's take some medicine first and then you can sleep, yeah?"

Mycroft took the medicine that Anthea had handed to Greg and drank an entire glass of water before falling asleep on Greg's chest. 

"He doesn't take care of himself when you aren't here." Anthea said softly. "He needs you more than he thinks."

"I need him too." Greg murmured as he looked at Mycroft's peaceful face. "I know you can't really help it, but could we try to minimize the duration of trips? Even if it's just on my end. Talk to my boss or something. Tell him it's a matter of national security."

"I will. Now, I need to do some paperwork in his proxy. He has the rest of the week and the weekend. Text me if you need anything." Anthea smiled gently at the two of them, holding her phone and surreptitiously taking an image of the two men. She closed the door behind her, leaving Greg alone with his thoughts. 

***

Mycroft wavered in and out of consciousness for the next day or so. His fever finally broke and his sleep became peaceful. 

Greg was reading and gently stroking Mycroft's cheek when he awoke feeling a bit less horrible. 

"Gregory? What are you doing here? You were in Canada." Mycroft murmured as he closed his eyes as the sensation of Greg's fingers on his skin. Greg put his book down and slid down so that he was face to face with Mycroft. 

"I missed you." Greg pressed a kiss to his nose as he draped an arm over his hip. "Then you got sick. Anthea said that you need to take better care of yourself. I told her to stop sending you on long trips abroad." 

Mycroft smiled. "I suppose I do need to take things easy. I'm not a young man anymore. Well, maybe I am in some aspects." His eyes glittered as he felt Greg's hands drift lower. He moaned softly. "Gregory."

Greg ran his hand back up Mycroft's hip, kissing his jaw lightly before pulling away. "We can celebrate after you eat something and shower."

Mycroft sighed, trying to sound annoyed. He ended up giggling as Greg's hands found his ticklish areas. "I don't think I can walk." He said, melodramatically throwing his arm over his eyes. His eyes crinkled in a huge grin. "Carry me?"

Greg relented from his tickle attack as he lifted Mycroft into his arms and carried him to the shower, where Greg "helped" Mycroft clean himself, mainly by using his mouth. They got around to eating eventually. 

Yes, the best medicine was definitely spending time with the one you love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	194. Touch (Johnlock) (Mystrade) (Anthooper)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I had two suggestions that I really wanted to combine and ended up with this ball of sadness. MyriadProBold suggested a game night and Valerie (from an email) wanted to explore the development of the Johnlock relationship. A thanks goes to them for helping me to create this.
> 
> Enjoy. :) (Sorry!)

Sherlock did not know when the touches first began; he only became aware of them at Christmas. The Christmas after everything had exploded with Mary. 

They were all gathered around the fire. Greg and Mycroft had recently announced their new relationship, primarily due to the fact that Sherlock had found them snogging under the mistletoe outside. Molly's cheeks were red and she kept sending glances towards Anthea. Sherlock and John grinned at each other at their friends' happiness. 

They were all slightly intoxicated; Mrs. Hudson made the best drinks. They had long ago given up Cluedo. Sherlock had solved it within one round. The chess board too had ended up on the floor, due to a stalemate between Anthea and Molly. Mycroft had gotten frustrated and had flipped the board, leaving all of them giggling. Now, they were playing that horrendous game of "guess what is written on your forehead". 

John and Greg were winning whereas Sherlock was growing more and more agitated, especially after being told what he was. 

"This isn't fair. You all know that the solar system is not relevant to me. And who the hell is Harry Potter? It sounds like a plant. How am I supposed to know what this Taylor Swift looks like? I'm guessing he's a cat or something?" The room was sent into giggles and he grew more frustrated. Sherlock stood, then wobbled a bit before sitting back down. Maybe he had too much to drink. 

John placed a steadying hand on his thigh. Maybe it was the fireplace, but Sherlock thought he saw a spark in his eyes. He was suddenly sent back to over a year before. The stag night. That same hand on that same leg. The look of desire in his eyes. 

He swallowed hard as he turned back to everyone. Mycroft and Anthea caught his eyes, smirking. "Kiss him, you fool." They said. But he didn't. 

He stood, a bit more steady. "Well, it's getting late. I'll play one more song." He pressed his violin to his chin and played a cheerful tune as the group left. The song then shifted to a sadder tune, reminiscent of old times. 

He thought he felt a hand on his shoulder and one in his curls, but he paid no mind. They were just touches. John was seeking out human comfort. He didn't want Sherlock in that way. 

At least, that's what Sherlock told himself. He played on, gazing at the moonlight over London and quietly lamenting for missed chances and his own cowardice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	195. Frozen (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, IceCream3131 wanted to see Sherlock, the superhero. Lucky for you, you all get two superhero chapters. :)
> 
> Enjoy. :)

Sherlock let himself smile as he touched a raindrop that was suspended in air. It was cold on his palm as he snatched it from the air. 

He marveled at the stillness of the world, the silence, and the way the falling droplets, now frozen in place, reflected the sun as it peaked out from behind the grey clouds. 

He walked the London streets, taking his time as he deduced the frozen forms of those passing by. The statues of blood and flesh and humanity. He soon felt the loneliness set into his heart. He was alone. All alone. 

He had the power to freeze time itself, to stop the world with a mere thought and a mumbled bit of Latin under his breath. Yet no one to share it with. 

He turned on his heel as he walked back to the hospital. Mike was going to introduce him to someone. 

Oh the joy, a sarcastic voice said in his head. He pushed it aside. The world began to thaw around him; his ability only lasted for at most an hour, and he never knew when it would stop. 

He picked up his pace. 

***  
He had actually become a minor celebrity. He found that when he touched people and murmured his spell, they would unfreeze, though the world would start to thaw soon after. He had saved several kidnapping and trafficking victims with this. But they had remembered him. He took to wearing a beard and an eyepatch so that he couldn't be recognized. (The closest place had been a party store and he preferred that to a propeller hat. Plus, he liked it.) They had started calling him the Pirate, and enough people had seen him for him to become the talk of tabloid newspapers. But that didn't matter. 

Think. Think, Sherlock, think. Save John. John had 15 minutes to live. Where would they take him?

He looked again at the text message that was frozen on his phone. The image of John with a gun-. He didn't want to think about it. He thought he knew where John was, after looking at the shadows and the lighting from a window. He scribbled a note for Lestrade, who stood frozen in mid-sentence. He then found a bicycle - cars and the tube did not work when time was frozen. He started towards the docks of the Thames. He hoped that he wasn't wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	196. The Dynamic Duo (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A continuation of the superhero story. Thank you to IceCream3131 for the idea!
> 
> Enjoy. :)

All he needed to do was find John, unfreeze him, then get them both out of there. 

He found the warehouse - he thanked all of the gods that he knew, even though he was an agnostic. It irritated him, not knowing. - and tied up all of the frozen guards with rope that was lying around. He took all of the guns, hiding several in his coat. He soon found John, untying him and taking a moment to look at him. 

His face was neutral, calm in the face of danger. He wanted him to smile though. John deserved to be happy, not having his life threatened on a day-to-day basis. He sighed, pressing a kiss to John's forehead and mumbling his spell. 

Suddenly, the world seemed...wrong. John was staring up at him in shock and there was a pain in his shoulder. 

He turned, finding a captor holding a smoking pistol. Shit. He had taken too long. Everything had thawed while his attention was on John. He felt the blood on his shoulder. Then he was being pushed to the ground as John took the guns from Sherlock's coat and shot the man until he moved no more. 

Sherlock lay on the ground. His vision was blurred. Blood loss. An artery. He was going to die. 

John suddenly appeared over him, placing his hands over the wound. He was mumbling something. Sherlock saw lights as the pain ebbed. He screamed and lay still. 

***

John was sitting beside him in his bed, running his fingers through Sherlock's curls. Sherlock looked at him, confused. 

"John. I should have died or at least be in a hospital." Sherlock sat up, wincing at a soreness in his shoulder. 

"And you shouldn't have appeared out of thin hair and kissing me when you hadn't been there the second before. I think we both need to explain something." John grinned at him sheepishly as Sherlock blushed. 

"I can freeze time for certain periods and have been saving people by using it. I am the Pirate from the papers. Your turn." 

"I can heal people. It's why I became a doctor. I wouldn't have survived being shot otherwise in Afghanistan, I wouldn't have been able to save the others. I only use it when absolutely necessary. It's a tool, not a cruch." John smiled. "How did I not know that my best friend was a superhero?"

"I could say the same for you."

"Why were you kissing me though?" John raised his eyebrows, laughing at a blushing Sherlock. "It's fine. It's all fine."

***

A few weeks later, Sherlock and John stood outside a warehouse, going over the plan once more. 

"We should have about fifteen minutes. Make sure that you do not let go of my hand when I activate my power. Whatever I touch while saying the spell does not freeze and it doesn't drain my power. Now, the plan." Sherlock whispered as John put a hand on his hip. "I locate them. You heal the victims and evacuate. I sent a text to Lestrade. I'll dispose of the threats. Ready?"

"Always," John whispered as he took Sherlock's hand and pulled him into a kiss with his other hand. 

Sherlock whispered his spell, and time stopped. John smiled at Sherlock and dropped his hand, gazing at the world where time was stopped. Sherlock gestured towards the door, and John followed his partner, in all senses of the word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	197. Even in Death (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I killed John. IceCream3131 made me do it. 
> 
> (I'm sorry this sounds like the movie plot for "Just Like Heaven" , but I'm not making money off of this and I couldn't just leave him like that. Please don't sue me.)
> 
> Enjoy.

Sherlock heard a crash from the kitchen, and he realized that he couldn't ignore the problem any longer. 

The activity had started as soon he had moved in. First it was small things; Billy had been found on top of a copy of Hamlet. Sherlock had been sure that he had left it on the mantle. He assumed that Hudders was playing tricks. 

Then his experiments had suffered. He would leave for a moment, only to find the fingers that he had been studying were in the bin. 

Now, he heard crashing in his kitchen and he was determined to put an end to this madness. 

He grabbed his harpoon and opened the door...to find a man in his kitchen. 

No, it wasn't a man though. This thing was translucent, the moonlight streaming through his form. 

As he entered the kitchen, more curious than scared, the translucent man jumped. 

"What are you doing in my flat?" He asked as he stepped towards Sherlock. The man was short and appeared to have bloodstains on his shirt. He was in military fatigues and quite handsome, for a ghost. 

"Umm, this is my flat. I moved in a few weeks ago. Hudders said that the previous tenant had gone to war. I'm guessing that was you." Sherlock began picking up the kettle that was on the floor. "I would ask if you wanted a cuppa, but I don't want to stain the carpet."

"Um, yeah. I went to war. But I came back. It's a blur, but I'm sure I came back. John Watson. You are?"

"I'm Sherlock Holmes and I'm sure you're dead. I can see through you." Sherlock sighed as he put the kettle on the burner. "So, I guess you're going to haunt me now. I mean, the company is welcome. Talking to someone is better than talking to myself. So, what were your hobbies?"

***

Sherlock soon formed a friendship with his ghostly companion. John reminded him to eat and sleep and take care of himself and Sherlock tried to figure out what had happened to John. 

John had been shot in Afghanistan three months prior and had been in a coma ever since. He was only brain dead. 

"I found your body." Sherlock said one night as John sat beside him on the sofa. "You're at a local hospital in a coma. I might pay you a visit tomorrow. We could try to bring you back to life."

"I mean, I have nowhere to go. I have no job. I don't even know if I'll be disabled." John sighed. "I don't know. Maybe."

Sherlock looked at John, placing his hand over John's, only to watch it go through. He wanted to touch this man, to hold him, to feel his warm skin and his heartbeat instead of the cold chill whenever his body passed through Sherlock's. "I'll take care of you. You've become one of my only friends. I won't let you fall." 

John smiled resignedly. "We can try. I make no promises, but it's worth a shot."

***

Sherlock went to the hospital the next day, finding a human John with a breathing tube and a flatlining brain monitor. 

"Hey John. So nice to finally see you in person." Sherlock chuckled as he looked at John's peaceful form. It felt so wrong for him to be so still and lifeless. Suddenly, John's ghost form appeared. He gazed at his body, hesitantly meeting Sherlock's eyes. 

"No severe damage. I don't have any cerebral or spinal damage. It's just the whole brain dead thing." John said as he looked at his chart. "If I wake up, get a doctor immediately. Say that you're my flat mates do that you'll be in charge of my care. I might not remember you, and I definitely do not want to go home with my sister to recover." He puffed his chest, like he was taking a breath, the rise and fall calming him. "Thank you, Sherlock. It's been fun. Let's hope this works."

John stepped over his body, then plunged into it as Sherlock lunged forward. "Wait John! I think I love-" Then he was gone. 

John's heart flatlined for a moment before evening out. His brain activity was silent for a few painful moments, and then it spiked. John's body sat straight up, his eyes wide, frantic. Sherlock paged a nurse, who came rushing in to dislodge the breathing tube that John was struggling against. 

A doctor soon appeared and Sherlock was asked to wait outside before being allowed to return a few minutes later. 

John was awake and frowning at Sherlock. "Hi...I thought the doctor was finished. I'm sorry, but do I know you?"

Sherlock's heart fell a bit, but he smiled. He could win John's heart. He knew it. "You don't know me, but I know you. Sherlock Holmes. We're going to be sharing a flat."

He extended his hand, and felt a jolt through his body as he touched John truly for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	198. Notes (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Lion_62 and Carolina (email) suggested a bit of secret-admirer action. Your wish is my command. :) 
> 
> Continued in the next chapter. 
> 
> Enjoy. :)

Sherlock's face fell as he saw the markings on his locker. FREAK had been painted onto the metal. He sighed and opened his locker, finding the flannel and spray he kept in it to clean it. The flannel was stained with the paint of previous encounters. He was sure this wouldn't be the last time. 

"Can I help you?" A voice said behind him. "That's going to take some scrubbing. I have a spare flannel."

Sherlock turned to find a short boy with bright blue eyes and a kind smile. He sighed. Best to let him feel good about himself before he went to play rugby with those other idiots who had done this. He was new, transferred due to the loss of a parent. Mother and sister were alcoholics. Future doctor or soldier. Rugby player. He was small, but quick. Powerful. Handsome. 

"If you want to help, you can tell Anderson and Dimmock and the rest of the rugby team to leave me alone." Sherlock then slammed the door shut, stuffing his books into his bag and leaving the boy and the unclean locker behind. He hated rugby players and this new guy, so why wouldn't his heart stop beating so fast?

***

After a week, he had deleted the incident. His locker remained paint-free and the rugby players avoided him. He was glad about this change. 

Then he found the note. 

You are brilliant and amazing.

There was no identifier. Just those five words. His heart felt both warm and cold. This could be a joke. The rugby team had been quiet; maybe they had finally developed enough sentience to actually form a plan. Still, there was the small glimmer of hope that it was-

He sighed and tucked it into his bag. He could analyze the handwriting later. He could easily sneak away some of the papers of the rugby team. He just needed time. 

The notes continued though. A new one was on his locker by the end of the day, secured with tape. The paper was cheap, but the notes were written in a fountain pen. Writer then. But his handwriting was sloppy, so he wasn't wealthy. It showed a subpar education in elementary school, not a former private or a religious school student. The handwriting was also distinctly male. 

Your eyes are like heaven. 

The sun pales to you. 

May I have your name?

Be my friend at least?

You are not a freak. 

Each note had only five words. They seemed almost...poetic. Sherlock wanted to find this person, to confront him or kiss him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	199. And Admirers (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second part of the secret admirer arc that was suggested by Lion_62 and Carolina (email). Thanks!
> 
> Note: I thought of Sherlock as 16 and Mycroft as 18 in this. Greg is around Mycroft's age and John is also 16. 
> 
> Enjoy. :)

His brother had noticed his increasing agitation. Sherlock had been able to narrow down the times that this person would place the notes on his locker, but he had an anatomy class that period. Mycroft, and his boyfriend Greg, had a free block for that period and agreed to spy on the lockers one day. So what if they were going to spend the entire making out in the hallway? It's not like they didn't already do that behind the stands on the rugby field. 

So Mycroft and Greg waited, keeping an eye out for this mysterious admirer. Several people passed and they acted absorbed in each other. Finally, someone stopped in front of the locker, taping the note. Greg turned. 

"John, what the hell? You use your captain powers to make them back off. But you're doing this." Greg hissed as he approached him. John startled at the man towering over him, as well as the glare that Mycroft was giving him. "If you're playing a joke on Sherlock, I will personally..."

"It's not a joke." John said quietly. He held up the note. 

Wait for me here. Please. - JW

"I like him, but he seems shy and I felt like I gave him the wrong impression. He's amazing and beautiful. He's in my chemistry class and he's brilliant." John smiled softly at the thought of the boy. 

Mycroft's face softened as he deduced the boy. "You seem smitten with my brother, Mr. Watson. I think you might be good for him. Though he hates to admit it, he liked getting these notes. They were intriguing and he liked the author. If you hurt him though, your body will not be found. Come Gregory. Let us let nature take its course."

John slumped against the locker, retaping the note and waiting for the classes to dismiss. 

***

Sherlock searched the crowd as he approached his locker. 

I think I love you. - JH

Today's note brought tears to his eyes. John had confessed his feelings three months earlier and Sherlock was the happiest he'd ever been, especially as he saw those words in John's handwriting. 

"I love you too." He replied as arms encircled his waist and a kiss was pressed to his cheek. 

"I wouldn't want it any other way." John murmured. "Now, I think we have just enough time for a quick snog behind the stands before practice."

Sherlock hummed as he pressed a chaste kiss to John's lips and took his hand, intertwining their fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	200. Candid Moments (All of the Couples)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for not posting yesterday. Some family stuff happened and I wasn't in the right mindset to write. That might also be why this seems a bit disjoint. I'm sorry. :(
> 
> Anyways, Lion_62 wanted to see Mummy Holmes' wedding (from Chapter 97). 
> 
> Enjoy. :)
> 
> PS: 200!!!!!!!! Yay!!!!!!!!!

"I now pronounce you wife and wife," the minister said with a smile. "You may kiss the bride."

Elizabeth and Suzanne Holmes-Walker beamed at their wedding party and the crowd. Sherlock, Mycroft, and Anthea stood on their mother's side and John, Greg, and Molly stood behind their former teacher. Anthea and Molly, being still unmarried, held the bouquets for the women. Koby and Mira, the flower girl and ring bearer respectively, sat in the front row with Mrs. Hudson, who was holding a wriggly baby Vaughn. 

As soon as they kissed, the baby cooed and began clapping and reaching for his grandmothers. The wedding party left and the child was able to break free from Mrs. Hudson's grip, taking a few wobbling first steps before falling into the grass. Molly let out a delighted gasp and squeal as the wedding photographer caught Vaughn's first steps on tape. 

***

The reception was a sheer contrast to the ceremony. The DJ played a mixture of rock hits from the previous century and classical pieces from centuries before. The first dance between the couple shifted from a sweet, slow number to a choreographed head-banging hit. Sherlock, Mycroft, and Anthea each took turns dancing with their mother as their partners danced with their children. 

The six took turns giving speeches that attested to the couple's love. Overall, the reception was a sweet affair. 

Then came the bouquet toss. Mira and Koby stood at the front of the line, hoping to catch one of them because the flowers were pretty; Mira wanted to dissect them and Koby wanted to photograph them with a camera that she had gotten for her seventh birthday. 

Anthea and Molly stood to the back. Mummy Holmes had insisted though; she wanted another Holmes-Goldfish wedding. 

The bouquets were both thrown and were surprisingly caught by the unmarried couple. Mummy Holmes squealed as the two women giggled and shared a kiss. A bouquet fell from Molly's hands and was quickly snatched by Mira, who went to hide under a table with Koby. Koby soon emerged and began taking photos. 

Mycroft had to smile afterwards at the developed photos. She was going to make a great photographer, he thought. 

One photo showed Sherlock and John smiling at each other during one of the slow dances. Another showed a sleeping Anthea leaning onto Molly's shoulder as Molly rocked baby Vaughn. One image depicted a surprised Mrs. Hudson and Angelo emerging from the bushes with twigs in their hair and sheepish smiles. A different image held his mother and his new stepmother kissing chastely in the adjacent garden under the moonlight. That was his favorite so far.

Finally, he came across a final photo; many of them were blurred, but this one was crisp and clear. Mycroft's eyes were closed as he rested his head on Greg's chest. Mycroft almost overlooked it, but the look on Greg's face was so...unguarded. One could see the pure love and affection in his gaze. A small smile played on his lips as he gazed at Mycroft. 

Tears threatened to fall as Mycroft ran his fingers over the photo. He knew that Greg loved him, but this-this was overwhelming. 

He made a note to get several prints of the photo for the scrapbooks, the house, and their suitcases for when travel was necessary. He also wanted to send the other photos to the other couples. 

Yes, the photos attested to the love of each couple, these candid moments of every aspect of life caught on a little girl's camera.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	201. Crisis (Mystrade)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this has a brief mention of suicidal thoughts and homophobia. Just warning you all. 
> 
> Enjoy. 
> 
> Heads up. I will be gone from Monday until Friday this week. I might/might not get chances to post. I will try though.

Mycroft kept himself pressed to the wall as he waited. He could see a torch's beam through the window and he heard a rustling from the bushes below. Finally, the window popped open and his seventeen year-old daughter crawled into the room. 

She let out a sigh of relief as she recovered from her climb and her supposed success in sneaking out for the night. 

Mycroft flicked on the lights and she froze. "Young lady, what are you doing out at four in the morning?" Mycroft said in threatening voice. 

Koby lowered her head and sat on the floor. "I'm sorry." She murmured. "I was with Nick. I wasn't thinking. He got into a fight with his parents again. I had to go."

Mycroft walked to stand in front of her, then knelt down to face her. His face was softer. "How bad was it?"

"It was a nine on the danger scale. He told them that he's gay and they didn't like it. He was talking about-" She covered her face as a sob threatened form. "Can we help him? Therapy or something? He's one of my best friends and I don't want to lose him. I'm scared. What if I'm not enough to stop him one day? I can only do so much."

She suddenly felt strong arms around her as Mycroft pulled her to his chest. "I'll look into getting therapy for them." He smoothed his fingers through her hair. "Next time, just wake me up and I can send you with a car. I understand that you are a lifeline for some of your friends, but we love you too and we don't want you to get hurt. You could get kidnapped or attacked. It's happened. I came in here to check on you and I didn't know where you were. I was terrified. I thought someone had taken you." His voice was soft. 

Koby buried her face into Mycroft's shirt. "I'm sorry. I won't do it again."

"Sh. You can. You just need to let us know." Mycroft soothed. "Now, let's go get some tea and then you can go to bed. It's Sunday, so all of us can sleep late." 

"Okay. Please don't tell dad." She whispered as he helped her to her feet. They went to the kitchen, and Mycroft sent her to bed with a mug of tea and a kiss on the forehead. 

Mycroft returned to his own bed, trying his best not to wake Gregory. Greg stirred slightly before opening his eyes. 

"Which national crisis is it this time?" He murmured as he wrapped his arm around his husband. 

"Our daughter." Mycroft replied. "She's just like you. Always trying to save people and not thinking of your own safety. Go back to sleep."

Greg hummed and tucked his head into the crook of Mycroft's neck. He was soon asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	202. Like Father, Like Daughter (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Two in one day. This popped into my head. 
> 
> Enjoy. :)

Mira was awoken by the sound of crashing downstairs. She had been napping while Daddy worked on an experiment and while Papa was at work. She heard the sound of a struggle and tiptoed to the stairs. 

A mean looking man was in the flat. He didn't see her; he was tying up her unconscious father. She needed to save him. Quickly, she ran up the stairs and threw open her window, climbing out onto the fire escape and to her fathers' room. Luckily, the window was open due to the summer heat. 

She slipped into the room and found her father's mobile and her other father's gun. He had said only to get it in an emergency; it looked like an emergency to her. 

She went through the contacts and found Gavin; Daddy still wouldn't call him by his name. The mobile rang for a few moments before a gruff voice answered. 

"Uncle Greg, there's a bad man in the flat. He hurt Daddy. Please come help." She hissed. She heard Greg say a bad word before telling her to stay put. 

Then she heard a yell. It was her father's. She put the mobile in her pocket and held the gun like Auntie Anthea had told her. She quietly entered the room, seeing the man hitting her father. 

He saw her; they both saw her. Her father's eyes were wide with fear as he shouted for her to run, and the other man charged her. 

She was terrified. This man could hurt her, but he couldn't let him hurt Daddy any more. She stood her ground, took a breath, aimed, and pulled the trigger.

***

Greg was nearly out of breath as he ran up the steps of Baker Street. He burst through the door, his gun drawn, and stumbled backward at the sight. 

Mira was sitting at the table, a bit of blood over her eyebrow but otherwise unharmed. Her father, his face bloody, was returned from the bathroom with a medical kit. Finally, a man lay unconscious on the floor, tied like a hog with rope. He had a pool of blood around his shoulder. He had a princess tiara on. 

Mira smiled at her uncle as she searched through her toys until she found a makeup kit. She put red lipstick on the man as Greg recovered from the shock. 

"Hi Uncle Greg! I got the bad man. I accidentally hit myself in the face with the gun, but daddy says I'll have a scar! Cool right?" She then returned to her ministrations, adding eyeshadow to the man's face. 

Greg began laughing, before snapping a picture with his mobile. "That's nice, bumble. I'm sorry, but I have to take the man away." He patted the six year-old's head. "But I'll come back later with Koby and Myc, and you and Koby can put makeup on us. How about you go to Mrs. Hudson while I talk to your father?"

The child happily skipped away as Greg turned to Sherlock. 

"Please tell me that you shot him." Greg sighed as Sherlock dabbed his nose with a flannel and texted John.

"Actually, she shot him. She's got great aim. I was incapacitated by the suspect. He broke in somehow. So, she charged in with a gun and shot him. He stumbled back and hit his head. He's been unconscious since. The gun rebounded on her and hit her in eyebrow. I'll let John look, but I think it's fine. She then untied me and I incapacitated him. She's spent the last few minutes getting him ready for his mug shot." Sherlock smiled as the man was led away. 

"I told her to stay until we got here." Greg sighed. "I guess I can see the family resemblance. You don't listen to authority."

"She saved my life. He likely would have killed me. But yeah," Sherlock smiled to himself. "She's definitely my daughter."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	203. A Pretty Picture (Johnlock)(Mystrade)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am writing you all from my phone. 
> 
> So, Lion_62 wanted a continuation from the last chapter. Here you go. :)
> 
> Enjoy.

John received an urgent text from Sherlock and sprinted out of the clinic as fast as he could. 

When he burst into the flat, it was a mess. Police officers were packing up their equipment and blood covered the floor. Greg stood chatting with Mrs. Hudson, who was holding Mira on her new hip. 

She jumped down from Mrs. Hudson and ran to him. "Papa! Papa, I saved daddy. A doctor is checking on him in the bath, but he's being a sour kitty. Uncle Greg, tell Papa about the bad man." The child started leading him as Greg explained the attack. 

John took everything quite well, though he was upset by the blood that stained the carpet. 

As soon John entered the bathroom, Sherlock was jumping into his arms and hissing at the paramedic. He laughed at his husband, pressing a kiss to his forehead. 

"It's alright. I've got it from here. Thank you." He told the paramedic who nodded and left. Sherlock buried his face into John's neck, getting the blood from his nose all over his collar. 

"C'mon love. Let's look at you. You might have a concussion." Sherlock whined, but allowed John to carry him to the couch. Greg entertained Mira while Sherlock was examined. He had a slight concussion, but he hadn't broken any bones. 

Finally, after everything had settled, the blood stains had been cleaned, and the family lay nestled on the couch, Mira jumped to her feet in a Sherlockian manner. 

"Tiara! He took my tiara." She said as she began looking under the furniture. John gave her a confused expression. 

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Mira opened it and Koby burst in, pulling her into a hug. Mycroft and Greg soon appeared at the door, Greg with two tiaras and a bag of makeup in his hands. 

John arched an eyebrow before Greg began laughing. "Oh yeah, you didn't see the photos." Greg pulled out his phone and showed John the picture of the criminal with red lipstick and a tiara in their sitting room floor. He also passed around the man's mugshot, which was even more entertaining. 

John chuckled at the photos as Mira took one of the tiaras and put it on him. 

"Papa, Koby and I are going to make you and Uncle Greg pretty too." 

The glint in her eye was just like Sherlock's when he was about to do something mischievous. He chuckled and resigned himself to his fate as she reached for the red lipstick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	204. Extraordinary Light (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cried writing this. 
> 
> Inspiration is drawn from a song from "Eastland: A New Musical". I've tried finding a link to the song, but I haven't found it anywhere. I might upload it to my tumblr so you all can hear it. Let me know what you all want.
> 
> Enjoy. :)

The soft, twinkling melody of a piano drifted across his mind. Calm and warm, like the air of a summer long past. 

"Now, what's this one?" An elderly woman smiled at him as she held out a flower. She had aged gracefully, and her silver hair sparkled in the sun. 

"It's a rose!" A small voice chimed. 

"That's it, mon petit chou." She ran her fingers through his unruly curls as she lifted him. "My perfect little William."

The child giggled, voice like a bell, as he was swung into the air. He then settled in her arms as she pressed a kiss to his forehead. 

"I love you, grandmama. Can I marry you when I get older?" 

The grandmother smiled wearily at the boy. "William, I won't-I won't be around here forever. But don't cry. Don't cry," She hugged the teary-eyed boy tighter. "One summer day when you're older, just like this one, you'll be basking in the extraordinary light of someone who loves you. The day will be clear, free of clouds, and you'll just know. You may not understand now, but you will, my William dear. You will."

***

Sherlock jolted from the dream; no, not a dream. A memory. The summer before his grandmother had-

He felt tears forming at his eyes as he looked at the sandy-haired man beside him and as he thought of their daughter upstairs. 

She had been right. She had been so right that an ache formed in his chest. He found himself being pulled into a warm embrace as the sobs were ripped from his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	205. Nitrous Oxide (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What? Alex is posting while on vacation?!?! Well, she has been surreptitiously writing fanfiction on her phone, so yay!
> 
> So, Val suggested Sherlock going to the dentist. Here you go!
> 
> Enjoy. :)

Sherlock whimpered for the fifth time in seven minutes as they were splitting a pudding from Angelo's. John overlooked it until Sherlock pushed his dessert away without having finished it. Then, John got worried. 

In his five years with Sherlock, he had never seen him not finish a dessert. If there was a case and John put a piece of cake in front of him, Sherlock would drop whatever he was doing to eat it. 

Now, he was refusing to eat it. 

"Sherlock, what's wrong?"

Sherlock ignored him, turning to his mobile. John sighed, taking the plates and putting them under the faucet. 

"Sherlock," He used his Captain voice. Sherlock's eyes snapped up, a scowl forming on his face. 

"I'm fine, John. Just a bit of a toothache." Sherlock waved his hand, as if trying to dismiss him. He dropped it. 

***

Several days later, Sherlock was unable to concentrate. He was agitated and stayed on a constant intake of paracetamol, John noticed. Finally, he'd had enough. 

"Sherlock, get your coat. I'm taking you to the dentist." The detective disappeared rather fast. John found him on the fire escape, trying to get away. 

Sherlock was eventually bribed to the dentist with the promise of several cold cases and a pair of ears from a deaf person, complete with the inner workings, from Molly. 

"Mr. Holmes, you have eight cavities. You're lucky we caught them when we did. Root canals are very painful, but we should be able simply to fill them."

Knowing that he wouldn't be able to get Sherlock into the office again, he talked him into getting them filled that day. Sherlock only asked for one thing: he wanted John to stay with him. 

Bad idea. 

***

"Jawn!" Sherlock slurred. "I can't feel my face. Jawn!"

Sherlock Holmes, due to the extent of the procedure, had been given nitrous oxide and was released as a giggling mess into John's care. 

"Jawn! Can we have pancakes? Pancakes sound good. With chocolate syrup. I had them in America once. Jawn, what's that in the sky?"

"That's the sun." John smiled as he pushed him into a cab. 

Sherlock instantly attached himself to John, wrapping his arms around John's bicep. He rested his head on John's shoulder; it felt nice, even as Sherlock babbled. 

"Jawn, my head hurts." John's free hand went to his curls as he stroked them gently. "That helps. Can I tell you something? A secret? But make sure not to tell John."

"Sherlock..."

"I like John, a lot. I want to hug him and kiss him and do stuff in bed with him and fall asleep on his chest, and he seems like he would be a little spoon, but I want him to be my big spoon. I want him to take care of me. What should I do? Does he like me back?"

The detective pressed his face to John's shoulder. John took in Sherlock's words in the silence. 

John cleared his throat. "He loves you, Sherlock. Not just as a best friend, but as a romantic interest. He wants all of those things with you too. You just have to tell him." John felt him smile against his arm. "Go to sleep. You can tell him when you wake up."

Sherlock pressed his face into John's neck, practically crawling into his lap, and fell into a gentle sleep, his hot breath ghosting over John's pulse point and having him both anxious and excited about what he had just gotten into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	206. Finally (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to popular demand, I give to you a sequel from yesterday's chapter. 
> 
> Enjoy. :)

Somehow, John managed to get Sherlock into the flat with minimal injury. When the detective fell asleep, he was out cold. He remained unconscious as they got out of the cab and on the trip up the stairs. 

John stumbled to the sofa, where the detective decided to awaken just long enough to fall onto John and pull him into a hug. 

John was too exhausted to try to move him, and he soon fell asleep with Sherlock in his arms. 

***

When John awoke, Sherlock was staring at him and blushing bright red. At some point during his slumber, John had rolled the two of them and was now laying on Sherlock. They were face to face. 

"Hey, how's your mouth?" John smiled as he sat up and stretched. His neck was sore from sleeping on it funny. 

"John," Sherlock whispered, fear in his eyes. "I remember everything and I'm sor-"

"Don't you dare apologize." John replied, his eyes meeting Sherlock's. "Not for that." John stood and went to make tea, leaving Sherlock time to think.

The tension was palpable. 

Sherlock entered the kitchen as John poured the tea, pressing close to John's back to get his mug. He let his head fall onto the nape of John's neck, his hot breath sending shivers down John's spine. 

"I meant it. Everything." John said. He tools sip from his mug. "I've meant it for a while, but I was afraid. Afraid of rejection, of losing you. Afraid of you being indifferent and having to live with these feelings knowing that you didn't feel the same way. If I stayed quiet, I could hope."

Sherlock's breath stuttered on his neck, and then John found himself being spun around and pinned by Sherlock's arms on either side of his hips. 

Sherlock's head was low, then his eyes met John's. Warm. Open. Vulnerable. 

He leaned forward, his lips millimeters from John's, his hands on the doctor's hips. John leaned forward, pulling Sherlock into a chaste but passionate kiss. 

When Sherlock pulled away, John began laughing. He slid down to the floor, his back against the cabinets as he laughed. Sherlock joined him too, both in the giggles and on the floor. 

"Finally. It feels like I can finally breathe." John smiled as his giggles faded. "I'm so happy right now. Come here." 

He opened his arms and Sherlock accepted the embrace. The two of them stayed on the floor for a long time, Sherlock in John's arms, head tucked into the hollow of the doctor's neck and hands exploring John's chest over the cloth of a jumper. John would occasionally press kisses to Sherlock's forehead and curls. 

They only separated when they heard Mrs. Hudson's gasp of joy from the sitting room and the sound of a plate of pastries falling to the ground

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	207. Over (Mystrade)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some Mystrade angst. I'll fix it though.
> 
> Enjoy. :)

"Stop it. Stop acting like a child." Greg's tone was full of acid as he glared at Mycroft. "You take my cases and treat me like I am just a bit plaything. You keep me holed up in here, then you don't come home for weeks on end. You act so indifferent to me, like I don't exist."

"Gregory, these past weeks have been busy-"

"There you go again. Excuses. Avoiding the problem. Hiding from your fears like a child." Greg sat on the bed, letting his shoulders sag. He looked so much older in the pale morning light. 

Mycroft stood in his three-piece suit with his luggage, freshly returned from another country. His face was neutral. 

"If that's how you feel." Mycroft's voice was rough, vulnerable then...blank. "I will send your things to Baker Street. Dr. Watson will let you sleep on his sofa."

"I guess that's it then?" Greg sighed. 

"Good day, Detective Inspector. It has been a nice five years." And Mycroft turned on his heel and shut the door softly behind him. 

Greg wanted to hear it slam, wanted to see the end affect Mycroft as much as it affected him. But, he thought, that's why they had failed, wasn't it?

Greg was too involved with a man who couldn't feel a thing. 

He fell back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling and trying to suppress the tears in his eyes and the ache in his heart. 

***

Greg appeared at Baker Street a few hours later, eyes red and pleading. John let him take his old bedroom for as long as he needed. John didn't need it anymore. 

That night, Anthea came by with several boxes of Greg's belongings. On top of everything was a small, leather bound book. A note was taped to it. 

Greg carried everything up to his temporary bedroom and sat on the bed. He laid on it, staring at the ceiling. He held the small book in his hand, contemplating on how to open it. 

"Hey," John said from the doorway. He had a worried look on his face. He had been knocking for a while. "You okay?" He sat on the bed beside Greg. 

"I feel...numb." Greg sighed. "Five years gone. And the sad part is that, after everything, I still love him."

John put his arm around Greg and let Greg break down until he was wrung out of emotion. Finally, Greg gave into exhaustion and John escaped to his own Holmes brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	208. Words (Mystrade)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, IceCream3131 suggested a prompt about journal entries. 
> 
> This is also a continuation from the previous chapter. I'll finish this arc with the next post. :)
> 
> Enjoy. :)

Four in the morning is such a lonely time. Some people are leaving their warm beds and sleepy lovers for another day at work while others are going to lonely beds after long nights of staring at the ceiling. 

Greg fell in neither category, for he had no lover and sleep would not overtake him in those predawn hours. 

He held it in his hands. The word "Journal" was emblazoned in gold lettering. Did he want to open it? He knew its owner, yet he was terrified that he would find nothing, no expressions of love, or the opposite, proving that he had made a grave error. 

He took a breath and opened it. 

***

Today, I spoke to him for the first time. I could not stop staring at his warm brown eyes. They could melt even the coldest soul. 

*

Sherlock overdosed today. Gregory was right there, beside me, consoling me. He hugged me, and I felt like my heart would beat out of my chest. He's warm; what I wouldn't give to have those arms around me at night. 

*

He smiled at me today. Not a fake one, a genuine smile. If only he weren't married. 

*

He called me yesterday. His divorce was finalized. He wanted me to celebrate with him. Apparently, I am a "lightweight" when it comes to alcohol. None of that matters though. I kissed him and he kissed me back. The hangover is worth it. 

*

I love him. 

*

I miss him. My heart aches when I have to leave him. 

***

Greg read through each entry, starting from their first year until the present. They all spoke of Mycroft's love for Greg. He finally reached the last entry. 

*

I know that I'm not perfect. These past few weeks have been hard. Some terrorists have threatened the Scotland Yard, and I can't let Gregory get hurt. He's my world, my escape, my rock, and it would kill me if I lost him. 

The threat has been neutralized and things can return to normal. I've taken the next three weeks off and have arranged the same for Gregory. All we need to do is pack and then we can go. An island all to ourselves. 

This ring has been in my pocket, next to my heart, for the past month. Just one more day. I hope he says yes. 

*

Greg let the journal fall from his hands. Shit, he had messed up big time. He pulled on clothes as fast as he could, leaving the flat to escape into London's early morning rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	209. Silver Lining (Mystrade)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two in one day? Yay!
> 
> Here is the third and final chapter of this arc. :)
> 
> Enjoy. :)

The sun was nowhere in sight in the overcast sky. Greg was soaked to the bone and out of breath from running. Myc wasn't answering his phone, and Greg had left his wallet at Baker Street. 

He finally came to the door of the townhouse, letting the knocker fall multiple times. Finally, the door opened to reveal a wide-eyed and worried Mycroft. He was in a dressing gown and was wearing Greg's pajamas. His eyes were red and he looked so scared and...small. 

"Myc," Greg breathed as he threw himself to the man's chest. "I'm sorry. I was being an idiot; I wasn't listening. I was doubting myself and our relationship. I'm so sorry." Greg's knees gave out and the two men were sent to the floor. 

The door fell shut and they found themselves facing each other, tears in their eyes. 

"We're both idiots. I let work become more important than you. I wanted to stop you, but I didn't want to hurt you more than I already had. I wasn't going to force you to stay with me." Mycroft murmured. 

"I would have done the same thing. I would have let you go because I would rather you be happy without me than unhappy with me. And you were just trying to protect me." Greg smiled as he kiss Mycroft's forehead, running his fingers through the auburn curls. "You never have to apologize for that. Just give me some notice. We can have code words or something."

"I see Anthea gave you my journal." Greg smiled at the twinkle in Mycroft's eye. He pulled the man into a kiss, running his fingers up his sides, down his back. 

They separated after a moment, but only enough to see the desire and the love in each other's eyes. 

Greg took Mycroft's hand, intertwining their fingers as they made their way to the bedroom, abandoning their soaked articles of clothing along the way. 

***

The overcast skies soon cleared, and limbs and sheets and fingers were intertwined as they dozed until the midday sun fell on them. 

"The answer is yes." Greg murmured into Mycroft's ear as he squeezed his hand. "I will marry you, Mycroft Holmes." He brought his future husband's hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss. A small smile appeared on Mycroft's sleeping face and he snuggled closer, burying his face into Greg's chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	210. Mother (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about not posting yesterday! I, like Sherlock here, was extremely sick and could barely move, much less write. But, I am feeling better, so yay!
> 
> Trigger warning: vomiting/bodily fluids. Sherlock gets very sick, so I would suggest not reading the first section (up to the ***) if you do not like any of these things. I can gladly give you a synopsis via email or in the comments, if you so desire. 
> 
> Enjoy.

Mrs. Hudson had just made some scones for her boys when she heard a crash upstairs. She turned off the oven and immediately ran up the stairs and into the flat. 

Sherlock's microscope laid on its side on the kitchen table. Several dishes and mugs were broken on the floor. How strange, she thought. Then she heard the noise. As a mother, she knew those sounds, and she dreaded them. 

Sherlock was on the bathroom floor, holding his head over the toilet basin as his stomach heaved. He retched again, then fell back against the wall. His forehead glistened with droplets of sweat. He pressed his face into the cold tile and whimpered. 

"John?"

"No, dearie. It's me. But I had two sons and I know how bad the stomach flu is. I'll leave John a message. Let's clean you up first." 

The detective was shaking and swayed as he stood. Mrs. Hudson led him to the sofa, her strong arms around his waist, and placed a blanket over his chilled form and a bin by his head. She searched through the cabinets and found a bit of ginger ale and some soda crackers. She set those on the table and cleaned the broken dishes on the floor, then went to go find a clean shirt for him. 

She dressed Sherlock like a doll. He neither aided nor hindered her. He would simply whimper, clutch his stomach as the nausea rolled over him, and say John's name. 

Come home as soon as you can. Sherlock is ill. - MH

After texting John, she sat beside Sherlock on the sofa, running her fingers gently through his curls and holding the bin when his stomach heaved. After one particularly rough episode, he crawled into her lap and rested his head in the crook of her neck and fell asleep. 

His body stopped shaking as he drifted off to sleep, and she was glad that he was finally getting some relief. 

***

John came through the door, panting. Mycroft had texted him saying that Sherlock was ill. (Or rather, Mrs. Hudson, as he later discovered. The initials could get very confusing between Molly, Hudders, and Mycroft.)

He stopped suddenly as Mrs. Hudson shushed him, pointing to the sleeping bundle on her lap. He softly walked towards her, placing a hand on Sherlock's back. 

"Stomach flu. I have him a few crackers and some liquid. He's held them down. He's a bit weak, but I can make him some soup. He mainly wanted you. He's been delirious, thought I was you." Mrs. Hudson smiled as she ran her fingers through his curls. "Reminds me of taking care of my boys when they were young. I miss that." 

John smiled gently and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Well, Sherlock and I have been talking about the possibility of adopting. We'll need someone to be an adoptive grandmother. We'll see."

Sensing John's presence, Sherlock extricated himself from Mrs. Hudson's lap and threw himself into John's arms. He murmured "John" into the crook of his neck before wrapping his arms around John's neck and his legs around his waist and falling asleep on John's chest. John smiled and gently helped him into the bedroom before coming out and pulling Mrs. Hudson into a hug. 

"I don't know what we would do without you." He smiled. "Thank you so much for taking care of him. You're like the mother that I, we, have always wanted."

***

The next year, for Mother's' Day, Martha Hudson found a large bouquet of flowers, a picture of her that had been created with bacteria, and a card made with crayon with a message written neatly pen. 

Happy Mother's Day, Mrs. Hudson. We love you so much. 

Love, John, Sherlock, and Mira.

For the first time in years, Martha Hudson cried out of sheer happiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	211. Accidents Happen (Anthooper)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about not posting yesterday. I wasn't as well as I thought. Thank you all for the well wishes though. I'm feeling much better today. 
> 
> Enjoy. :)

Molly was running late. Her alarm hadn't gone off and a pipe in her flat had burst. Her landlord was a jerk and took his sweet time calling someone. So, basically, her day was going to Hell in a handbasket. She got on her bike and tried to phone her boss to tell her that she would be late. The call had just gone through when it hit her. 

Molly was sent to the ground as the car that had hit her stopped. The passenger of the car was immediately pulling her away from the London traffic as a dazed Molly tried to check for injury. 

Her head had hit the pavement, just below her helmet. Her eyebrow and nose were throbbing and blood came away on her hand. Her wrist hurt terribly; it wasn't broken though. Her ankle, however, wouldn't take her weight as she tried to stand. 

She was brought out of her thoughts as she noticed the woman standing over her. God, she was beautiful. Curly dark hair, long legs, those lips though. Though they were pulled into a worried frown, Molly would have done anything for that woman to smile. 

"I am so sorry. My driver didn't see you. They really need to trim those bushes." The woman was trying to help Molly to sit up in the curb and was using a handkerchief to dab some of the blood on her face. "We should get you to a hospital. I'll cover all of your expenses and replace everything. I am so sorry."

The woman's voice was soothing; it was rich and smooth like honey. Molly found herself drifting, leaning on the woman's shoulder. The woman wrapped an arm around her waist and was helping her into a car. Molly didn't care about being jostled though; the woman was warm and smelled like cinnamon and vanilla and pine. Soon, Molly was asleep in the woman's arms. 

***

Molly felt like she had been hit by a car. Oh wait. She heard the beeping of a heart monitor and the smell of antiseptic made her head throb. 

"You have a mild concussion." The soothing voice whispered. "You've been out for a few hours. No major damage. Your ankle, however, is broken. Again, I am so sorry."

Molly's eyelids fluttered open and those eyes, god those eyes, were smiling at her gently. 

"It's fine." She slurred. The pain medicine made her lightheaded and sleepy. Gosh, she was beautiful. Molly wouldn't mind waking up next to her every morning. 

"Well, thank you." The woman blushed slightly, having heard Molly speaking her thoughts aloud. "Go back to sleep. I'll talk to your doctor and notify your emergency contacts."

Molly couldn't help but listen to her. 

***

Molly was awoken to the hushed arguing of her two favorite men. Sherlock was sulking in a chair while John read some papers. The woman, unfortunately, was not in the room. 

Molly sighed and tried to sit up. John gave her a smile, explaining that she was being discharged. She went through the motions, changing into her clothes, which was difficult with her ankle in a cast. Just as she was leaving the room, a nurse came by with a note and her paperwork. 

The note had a phone number on one side and a message on the other. 

A new mobile, bicycle, and helmet are in your flat. We should get coffee some time, Molly. I think you're attractive as well. ;) - Anthea

Molly blushed bright red and hurried to catch up with Sherlock and John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	212. Replacements and Substitutes (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to write a sad Sherlock who needed comforting. I got this. 
> 
> Enjoy.

"Sherlock?" John called as he entered the flat. "I have take-out. Sorry I'm late. We had an emergency patient right at closing." Silence. "Sherlock?"

Sherlock was nowhere to be found. John had checked every room, aside from Sherlock's bedroom. Finally, he knocked lightly, hoping the detective was asleep and that he hadn't been kidnapped. Again. 

Suddenly, a text came through on his phone. 

Danger night. - MH

Shit. 

John opened the door, suddenly more worried. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw a familiar shape sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed. Sherlock didn't move. 

The room was dark, the only light coming from a street lamp outside. The orange glow fell on his curl-veiled face. Ethereal. Beautiful. Sorrow. A deep pain was on Sherlock's face. 

"Go. Away." Sherlock annunciated. 

John instead moved to sit beside Sherlock. Sherlock had earphones attached to a small music player; John heard the faint clicks of the volume being increased. 

"I thought I told you to go." Sherlock murmured as he let his head fall back against the bed's footboard, his eyes closed. His breathing was shallow, his hands shaking. 

"I'm not leaving, not when you're like this. Want to talk about it?"

Sherlock was silent. John moved closer, their knees touching, their sides pressed together. Sherlock's head hesitantly touched John's shoulder, then settled more firmly when he realized that it was okay. 

After several moments, Sherlock offered John an earbud. 

The music was soft, gentle like a soothing lullaby. John shifted so that Sherlock was more or less on his chest. 

Sherlock buried his face into John's neck, his body shaking. "It's not working." He whispered. "It usually works. I can't get it to stop. It hurts, John. I feel like I'm going to explode." Sherlock was sobbing now. 

John's phone was on the floor when it lit with another message. 

His violin teacher has passed. He uses recordings of her music to calm him when his mind won't stop. Please take care of him. - MH

"Oh Sherlock," he murmured as he ran his fingers through his curls and pulled him closer. Sherlock clutched at his jumper, and John felt warm tears on his shoulder. "Sh. I've got you. You're going to be okay."

John began humming the notes that had been playing. He had learned the piece in his younger days, back when his mother was trying to teach him the piano. 

Sherlock froze, pulling away so that he could look at John. A confused expression was on his face. It faded into neutrality and Sherlock closed his eyes. 

John held him for a long time, until his shoulder started hurting. He gently helped Sherlock into the bed and fell asleep with the detective on his chest. 

***

Afterwards, whenever the world would become too much for the detective and his mind started to rebel, he would crawl into John's lap and John would hum some of Sherlock's violin pieces and soon Sherlock would be asleep, content, and at peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	213. Surprise Visits (Mystrade)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lion_62 wanted to see Koby interact with Grandma Lestrade. I know I killed Greg's parents in an earlier chapter, but consider this a different universe.
> 
> Enjoy. :)
> 
> Also, I found some smutty head canons that I want to write. Are you all alright if I try some smut again or do we never speak of my smut attempts again?

"Gregory?" A voice called, waking him from a nice dream. Greg grumbled, burying his face into the pillow. The warm body beside him twitched awake. 

"Gregory?" Mycroft murmured as he checked the security camera on his phone. "It's eight in the morning. Why is there a woman shouting your name from our doorstep?" 

"That is my mother." Greg groaned. "How did she even find out where I lived? She isn't a danger. Don't let the security detail shoot her. She knows that I've been in a relationship but she doesn't know all the details. She's so difficult to write to, you know. Insists on letters but won't give me an address. I wrote her about you, but I doubt she's read them. I guess introductions are in order."

"I'll go get Koby. You find some clothes." Mycroft texted his detail as he yawned, then moved to put on pants and some of Greg's pajamas that had been thrown on the floor. 

It was too early in the morning to be dealing with this, especially since it was a rare day off for the two men. 

***

Paula Lestrade was a force to be reckoned with; she could be as sweet as a cupcake one moment and then give the worst tongue-lashing of one's life. She could make grown men cower with a single glare. She had also been traveling abroad for the past seven years after the death of her husband and the acquisition of a large amount of money from the lottery a few months afterwards. 

Now, here she stood, on Greg's doorstep. 

"Hey mum." Greg smiled as he let her into the townhouse. "Sorry about the mess. We didn't know you were coming. It's been a bit hectic." Which it had. Koby had just arrived a few weeks earlier and they were still trying to get her settled. She still had nightmares and needed to be comforted in the early hours of the morning. 

"I raised you, dear. I can handle a bit of mess." His mother pinched his cheek as she walked by him. 

Greg led her to the kitchen, where he began making tea. He heard the sound of small feet on the floors and opened his arms for Koby. She came running through the doorway and into his arms. 

"My said that we had a guest." The girl giggled. "Is it Mira? Mira said she would let me draw pictures of her so that I could use my new pencils." Greg spun the girl around, placing a kiss on her forehead. 

"No, cupcake. But we can go see Mira tomorrow, yeah? Now, I want you to meet someone." Greg lifted her onto his hip and approached his mother. "Mum, this is Koby. Koby, this is your grandmother. Mum, I will explain everything later."

Koby stared at the woman, slightly confused. "But I already have a grandma." She said as she hid behind her father. 

"Well, now you have two." Greg smiled. "She's my mother, cupcake." 

Again, the child looked confused. "What happened to your father? Did he go away like mama?" She then stepped away from her hiding place, catching a look of the graying woman who was smiling at her. "She's got your hair and your eyes, Gregory." She laughed. 

The girl cautiously approached the woman. The woman lifted Koby onto her knee and made a face, causing her to giggle. 

"Gregory?" A voice called from the doorway. Mycroft was wearing a pair of khakis and a button-down. 

"Myc." Greg went to his side, pressing a kiss to his cheek and placing a calming hand on his waist. "Mum, this is my boyfriend, Mycroft Holmes. I wanted to tell you, but contact has been a bit difficult."

"Do you love them?" His mother asked suddenly, the twin pairs of brown eyes meeting. 

"Yes. They are my world. I don't care if you approve. I love them both so much and I will not-"

"It's all fine." She smiled, standing to pull Greg and then Mycroft into a hug. "I'll have a new son and a granddaughter. Besides, I like this one a lot better than your last partner. He clearly loves you." 

Mycroft took Greg's hand and squeezed it. Koby giggled and tugged on the hem of Paula Lestrade's shirt. "Can grandma take me to the park?" 

"I would love to, dearie. Then we can get lunch and maybe some ice cream, if that's okay with your fathers. They look tired we can let them go back to bed." She winked at the two men, who blushed deeply. 

The two men agreed, and the family had tea and then went their separate ways: Grandma Lestrade to the park with Koby and Greg and Mycroft to the bedroom to enjoy some rare time alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	214. Running (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You wanted kid!lock, so here it is. Warnings: there are brief mentions of teeth and blood. They are very brief. 
> 
> I would like to thank 221Bee for letting me use the headcanons on their blog. I'll post a link to the prompt so you can check out this awesome person. 
> 
> A portion of this was also inspired by Lion_62's ongoing series. Check it out. 
> 
> Enjoy. :)

[Prompt Link (I tweeked it a bit)](http://221bee.tumblr.com/post/102475830483/i-bet-sherlock-bit-so-many-people-when-he-was-a)

 

"Sherlock! Come back here! I just wanted to hug you." Mycroft shouted as the four-year old took off running in the park. The child in question had just bitten his eleven-year old brother on the shoulder and was now running for his life, or as far as his tiny legs could carry him.

He ran and glanced over his shoulder, just as he collided with something. He stumbled and fell flat on his face. Someone helped him into a sitting position, where he proceeded to start crying. He had a sharp pain in his mouth and his head hurt horribly.

"Hey, it's okay." A voice said as someone pulled him into a hug. He then felt something being placed onto his forehead. "There. I fixed it." A young boy of six or seven with bright blue eyes and a hideous jumper was holding some Elastoplast paper in his hand. He ran the other hand up and down Sherlock's back.

Sherlock stared at the boy, not knowing how to react. He had heard about other children, but he had never had an interaction with any other than Mycroft. A sharp pain in his mouth caused him to break from his thoughts.

"I'm John. I'm going to be a doctor one day." He flashed a smile before leaning in closer to Sherlock. "Your tooth looks weird. It's perpe- perpend-"

"Perpendicular." Sherlock added. "Pull it out."

John's eyes held his as he nodded. "It's going to hurt." Sherlock nodded as John took one hand, squeezing it. "Squeeze my hand if it hurts."

John's other hand, covered in a tissue from a first aid kit that he apparently had, gently worked at the tooth until it finally popped into his hand. John smiled, handing another tissue to Sherlock to staunch the blood.

"Thank you," Sherlock mumbled as he examined his tooth. "I'm Sherlock."

John smiled as he threw the used materials into a nearby bin. "Why were you running?"

"My brother." Sherlock stood, taking John's hand as he saw a familiar form in the distance. "Run!"

Sherlock squeezed John's hand, and they ran.

***

"But papa! It hurts!" cried the little girl as she sat on the kitchen table. John sighed and ran his fingers through her dark curls. She was just like her father. 

"Mira, did I ever tell you about the time that I pulled daddy's tooth? He had bitten Uncle Myc and ran into me. He was so scared, but I told him to take my hand and squeeze it if it hurt. I want you to do that. Squeeze my hand if it hurts." The brave child nodded, and soon the baby tooth was free. She gave her father a bright smile before going to place it under her microscope. 

Sherlock smiled from the doorway, watching as his husband cleaned everything. "To think, we met because of a silly tooth." He chuckled. His arms encircled John's waist as he pressed a kiss to his cheek. "I'm going to go split it in half for her so she can see the different layers."

John smiled and closed his eyes for a moment, relishing in the calm and peace of the moment before they would have to go running after their daughter or another criminal. They had always been running, but for the moment, time seemed to stand still. And it was marvelous in the early morning light of 221 B.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	215. Brilliant (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, IceCream3131 suggested this. I'll post the John companion piece tomorrow. :)
> 
> Enjoy. :)

Sherlock scowled as he walked through the halls. Those damned jackets were everywhere. A stupid tradition, they were. For one week per semester, the rugby players (of both the male and female teams) would place their jackets on the back of the chairs of their crushes, ultimately asking the person to be their date to the dance that was held on that subsequent Saturday. In order to accept the invitation, the crush would wear the jacket for the remainder of the week. Anyone could ask someone to the dance, really, so long as one had a spare article of clothing. The jackets stood out amongst the crowd though; they were red with yellow trims. 

It was only Tuesday, and Sherlock wanted to burn every one of those jackets. 

As he walked through the halls, he saw Molly Hopper wearing his sister's jacket (ugh!) and his brother wearing co-captain Gary Lestrade's (Sentiment. Disgusting). He'd heard both couples "celebrating" the previous night and wanted desperately to go home and return to his experiment on the effect of salinity on waterlogged toes.

He sighed. His last class is of the day, then he was free. He could return to his bitterness. 

Then he saw him. John Watson. The other co-captain. He wasn't wearing his jacket. Sherlock's heart sank. He'd probably given it to Sarah or Mary. 

Why was Sherlock getting so upset? He'd hardly spoken to the man, but oh, what he had imagined. The thought of those rough hands on his hips, in his curls, the gentle caress of lips over his own, those fine-tuned and detail-oriented fingers moving lower and lower-

Sherlock blushed at the heat pooling in his abdomen. He couldn't be thinking of those things. He had class, and John was definitely not his. 

He quickly moved to his seat, but instead found a red jacket draped over the chair. Sherlock swallowed, his throat dry. A joke. This was a joke. Someone was recording this; they wanted to make fun of him. Or someone had just left it. The classroom was stifling today. 

He looked at the name on the back of it. 

WATSON

"So, what do you say?" A voice said shyly behind him. "Will you go to the dance with me?"

Sherlock turned to find the man that he'd been dreaming about for months looking at him nervously. 

"Why? Why me? Everyone thinks I'm a freak. Why are you interested?" Sherlock didn't meet his eyes. 

"You're not a freak. Hasn't anyone ever told you how brilliant you are? You're amazing and beautiful. Greg told me about the cases with the police and it's genius, really. You're brilliant and my heart beats faster whenever I hear your voice or think about you."

Sherlock finally raised his eyes to meet John's. He wasn't lying; Sherlock could deduce that much. Carefully, he lifted the jacket from the chair and wrapped it around his body, popping the collar up. It smelled like pine and soap and an underlying scent that screamed "John".

"You had met at 'brilliant'." He murmured as he sat, and the professor started the lesson. He still couldn't wait for it to end, but his reasons were completely different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	216. Elation (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you to IceCream3131 for the prompt idea. :)
> 
> I like to assume that Sherlock and John are both old enough to consent to whatever is implied and they are eager to "spend time" with each other after fantasizing for months. 
> 
> Enjoy.

Sherlock Holmes. 

John couldn't get the name out of his head. Neither could he forget that handsome face, that lithe body, that deep voice, that wonderful mind. A shiver ran down his spine. God, he wanted him. He didn't care if this man caused a sexuality crisis; he'd already caused two. 

John let his head rest against his locker as he waited anxiously. His jacket was draped across Sherlock's chair in their shared class. He just had to wait for him to show- 

There he was. His eyes briefly met John's before he fled into the classroom. 

Greg, when he'd first described him, had left out so many details. He talked of his brilliance, of his intelligence, of his attitude. John had instantly been hooked, almost to the point where John couldn't have a conversation without mentioning "Sherlock bloody Holmes. Why don't you propose to him already, John?" (Greg's words). 

Apparently, the interest was not one-sided. Sherlock had been shyly asking Greg questions about John when Greg's boyfriend, Sherlock's brother, wasn't in the room. Thus, Greg had suggested this plan as a way to get them to stop using him as a messenger. 

This plan made John's stomach churn. What if he rejected him? John would be heartbroken, and nobody wanted a heartbroken John crying on their shoulder. It was a messy ordeal. 

So, when John tried to convince Sherlock that this was no joke, his heart jumped with elation as he saw the lanky man wrapped in his jacket.

As soon as class had ended, he was taking Sherlock's hand and leading him to the lockers, where he proceeded to embrace the blushing Sherlock tightly. 

"Thank you. You don't know how much this chance means to me." John murmured as he pressed his face into Sherlock's neck. The scent of antibacterial gel and fruity body wash hit his nostrils, but an underlying scent mingled with his own. 

"As much as I like affectionate touches, which I do, especially from you, I must inform you that it might be better if we move things to an alternate location. I would very much like to kiss you and I don't know if I'll be able to stop."

Sherlock pressed a kiss to John's forehead as he gathered his things into his bag. When both of them had gotten everything, Sherlock took John's hand, stroking it with his fingers and memorizing the scars. He finally pressed a kiss to his knuckles and squeezed his hand. 

"Run." He whispered into his ear. His brother and sister wouldn't be home for a few more hours. 

And they ran the entire way there, hand in hand, John's jacket standing out on Sherlock's frame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	217. Anticipation (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go: 1012 words of badly-written porn. You wanted it (IceCream3131, you spawned this).
> 
> I blame all of you. 
> 
> //End sarcasm. I really love all of you. You're wonderful. 
> 
> Enjoy.

Anticipation. The sweet pain of the wait, of the lingering tension in the air as lips were mere inches from each other. 

The two stared at each other, breathing in each other's air, memorizing the joy in their hearts and the feel of fingers intertwined. 

Then Sherlock was being crowded against the door, those blue eyes staring into his soul. 

"John, I haven't-" Sherlock swallowed as soothing hands ran up and down his forearms. John could sense the nervousness in Sherlock's body. 

"Shh. It's okay. We can go as fast or as slow as you want." John smiled, his hand moving to cradle Sherlock's cheek. "Is it okay if I kiss you?"

John squeaked as Sherlock brought their lips together. He may have been inexperienced, but he was passionate and a quick learner, and they were melting. 

A tongue ran over the seam of John's lips and John allowed Sherlock entrance, their tongues fighting for dominance. Their teeth clacked together, causing the two to break away laughing. 

Sherlock rested his head on John's shoulder he was out of breath and his knees were shaking. 

"Bed?" John breathed into Sherlock's ear, sending a shiver down Sherlock's spine. 

Sherlock nodded, hastily pulling John up the stairs. He stopped in one room, telling John to wait a moment. He then led him to another room. It was filled with books, and a small fire-proof table was in the corner. 

"You have a fume hood?" John laughed.

"Mother was tired of having to evacuate the house due to my experiments." He said sheepishly. He was blushing and fiddling with the buttons on his shirt. 

"You are amazing." John said softly as he crossed to Sherlock, pulling him into a gentle kiss. "You sure you want to do this? We can go watch a movie or something."

"I've wanted you. To touch me. For months." Sherlock breathed out shakily. His heart was pounding. "I want this."

"Okay." John smiled, running his hands up Sherlock's sides. The younger man sighed into the touch, resting his head on John's shoulder. "I'll take care of you, Sherlock. If you want to stop at any time, just say so."

Then John was kissing his neck and unbuttoning his shirt. A tingling, pleasurable sensation ran through Sherlock's body, going straight to his cock. 

Sherlock's shirt soon fell to the floor and John, after removing his own shirt, began trailing kisses down Sherlock's chest. His lips deviated from the trail to encircle one of Sherlock's pink nipples. Sherlock gasped and let out an adorable mewling sound. John twisted the other in his fingers and Sherlock moaned, his knees buckling. 

John lifted him into his arms and carried him to the bed in the corner of the room, then proceeded to continue pressing kisses down Sherlock's abdomen. His thumbs rubbed small circles on his hips and Sherlock was practically writhing. 

"You're so beautiful, love." John murmured as he crawled up to pull him into a searing kiss. Both of them moaned at the feeling of skin on skin. Sherlock's arms encircled John's neck as he panted and trembled. John slowly undid Sherlock's fly, sliding his trousers down his hips. John gently brushed his clothed cock and Sherlock let out a low whimper. 

"John," Sherlock sounded wrecked. He looked debauched, his curls clinging to his sweaty forehead. His lips were swollen, and little red marks from John's ministrations marked his chest. 

Sherlock shifted, kneeing John in the groin and reminding him of his own straining member. He made quick work of their trousers before finally situating himself between Sherlock's legs. 

He ran his thumb under the waistband of Sherlock's pants, his tongue following the trail of hair downwards. Then, the pants were gone and Sherlock's cock bobbed upwards, hitting him in the eye. 

John quickly rolled a condom onto Sherlock's cock before rubbing at his eye. 

John giggled and smiled at Sherlock, who laughed. That laughed turned into a groan as John wrapped his lips around the cock, his tongue running under it, then over the head. 

"John, I-" Sherlock whimpered as John swallowed him down further, one hand going to fondle Sherlock's balls as he moved up and down the shaft. Sherlock's hips jerked, nearly gagging John, and then he was shuddering and coming as John stroked him through his orgasm with his tongue. 

John pulled off with a wet "pop", smiling up at the dazed man. He crawled up to kiss Sherlock, and then he found himself being pressed into the bed, his arms pinned above his head and Sherlock trailing his hands up and down John's body. He moaned as lips moved over his own, as he felt long fingers push down his pants and grasp his aching cock. 

"Sherlock-" And then the hand started stroking him and it was all too much. Sherlock claimed his lips as John spilled over into his hands. 

***

They stayed in the bed for a long time, simply trying to recover. Sherlock had gone to fetch a flannel and then curled up to John's chest, playing with the hair on his chest. 

"So, are we dating now? Because I really hope we are." John asked as he watched Sherlock pull on some trousers, a shirt, and finally John's jacket. 

Sherlock smiled and kissed John gently. "Yes. I think we are. Now, get dressed. My siblings will be home with their partners soon. I would prefer for dinner not to be extremely awkward. As much as Grisham likes men, I'm not sure that he wants to see his best friend naked."

John smiled and began putting on his own clothes. 

***

"So, I was going through some old boxes." Sherlock said. 

John looked up from his paper as he drank his tea. He had a rare day free of cases and clinic shifts. He had intended to spend it quietly reading. 

Sherlock, however, had other ideas. He stood wrapped in John's old rugby jacket. Just John's rugby jacket. 

John threw the paper onto the table, a predatory growl coming from his throat. 

"Bedroom. Now." And Sherlock happily obliged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	218. Shutter (Mystrade)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, lion_62 wanted Mycroft to bring Koby to work. Your wish is my command. (This was also loosely inspired by her most recent chapter from Come On, Baby Doll.) (I know I deviated from the original suggestion. Don't hate me.)
> 
> Enjoy. :)

Koby was a child of many interests: she liked playing in the mud, coloring, and playing with her best friend. One thing that stood out, however, was her fascination with cameras. 

Greg had assembled albums of her best works, even having some of them framed. She said she wanted to make movies as an adult, and her fathers didn't doubt her. The child loved cameras. 

So when Mycroft's office held its annual "bring your child to work" day, Mycroft thought she would be fairly entertained and out of the way if he put her to watching the CCTV cameras for Sherlock while he went over files beside her. Big mistake. 

***

Mycroft had left for a moment to get tea for them. Sherlock and John had been on a case and Koby had been entertained by watching Mira tell a story to one of her stuffed animals while in Mrs. Hudson's flat. She had also been watching her father work, and Mycroft had promised that she could go with Greg to work, should the opportunity arise. 

Mycroft had hoped that she would have gotten bored by the time he returned so that he would have been able to give her a coloring book and get some of his more confidential work done. Sadly, that was not the case. 

"Mycroft, why are Uncle John and Uncle Sherlock fighting?" She asked as she pointed at the screen. "They look like they are wrestling."

Sure enough, Sherlock had John pushed up against an alley wall and was pinning his arms above the head, his mouth at the doctor's throat. His other hand was trailing down to the doctor's-

"I think Gregory can explain it better." Mycroft said as he tried to block her view of the screen. "I got you some tea. Do you want some lunch?"

The child nodded in agreement as she tried to look over his shoulder. "They aren't going to get a divorce, are they?" Koby whispered. She reached up for Mycroft to hold her. He turned off the screens and carried her to his desk. 

He dialed Greg's mobile. "Gregory, could you meet us for lunch? And maybe arrest my brother for public indecency?"

"Bloody- What's he done now? No. Wait. I don't want to know. I'll be there in twenty." Greg sighed. "Please don't tell me I have to explain S-E-X to a five-year old?"

***

"So, adults like to wrestle...for fun?" The child asked as she picked at her grilled cheese sandwich. "And that's how babies are made?"

"Most of the time, yes." Greg smiled. "John and Sherlock were wrestling. But two people with the same parts can't make a baby. So, Myc and I can't make a baby, and Anthea and Molly can't have one without help."

"Oh." The child said, her brown eyes wide. "So they aren't getting a divorce." She was silent for a moment. "So, do you and Myc wrestle?"

Mycroft blushed and hid his face in Greg's shoulder. 

"Yes, we do." Greg smiled. "But remember, this is an adult thing. You have to be sixteen or older, so you are not allowed to do this until you are grown. Now, do you want to come with me to work? I'm sure you're bored out of your skull." 

Koby nodded and soon she was waving "bye" and telling Mycroft that he had better be home for dinner.

And Koby was not allowed near the CCTV cameras again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	219. Hesitation (Mystrade)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Charlie_Bucket requested some teen! Mystrade angst. Here you go. :)
> 
> Minor trigger warnings for alcohol use and fighting. 
> 
> Enjoy. :)
> 
> Also, I've been meaning to put my tumblr on here for a while. I don't have much Sherlock on it (My friends in real life don't know that I do this.) I use it as a political/things that interest me blog. But if you want to know more about me or just talk, you're welcome to send me a message. It's alex-the-anthropologist

When can I see you again? You could come by my place on Friday? ;) - GL

I'm sorry, Gregory. I can't. I can't see you anymore. - MH

Greg stared at the message again. He thought things had been going well. He really liked Mycroft; he was intelligent and brilliant and those eyes seemed to see into his soul. Mycroft was the one reason he kept going, his reason for studying and trying to do well on his A-level studies so that they could go to university in London and live together. 

But then he had gone and screwed it up. He had leaned in to kiss Mycroft goodnight, and he'd said those three damn words. Mycroft had panicked and slammed the door in in his face. And now they were here. 

He had f*cked up. 

Greg sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. His skin itched and he knew he shouldn't turn to alcohol to cope, but he didn't care. 

He pulled a beer from his refrigerator in his tiny flat that he rented so that he could get away from his family. 

After three beers, the light of his phone seemed welcoming, and he started scrolling through his phone contacts. 

***

Mycroft stumbled to the door. His eyes were red and swollen from the night before. He'd ended things with Gregory. 

It was for the best. Greg shouldn't waste his time on a dull, cold-hearted man like him. He could never give enough to Greg to satisfy him. The man was better off being happy with someone else. If they were together, it would eventually end in heartbreak. It was better to separate now before they got more attached. 

Mycroft opened the door and was greeting by a hard hit to his nose. 

"Mycroft Holmes, if I weren't dating your sister, I would kill you." A positively furious Molly Hooper stood on his doorstep, her arms crossed and her eyes narrowed. She looked dangerous. 

He invited her inside and ensured that his nose wasn't broke before addressing her. 

"Your ex-boyfriend called me last night. He was drunk and upset,and I had to go over to his flat to comfort him because you broke his heart. He's a mess." Molly sighed, her anger deflating. "Greg is like a brother to me, and it hurts my heart to see him like this. Just tell me one thing. Do you love him?"

Mycroft was silent. He finally sighed. "Yes. I love him. But I can't tie him down; I don't want him to be with someone like me when he can be happy." Mycroft buried his face in his hands. Molly moved to sit beside him, pulling him into an awkward hug. 

"Mycroft, he is happy with you. He couldn't stop talking about how amazing you are, both last night and every time I have talked to him." 

Suddenly Mycroft was jumping to his feet. "I have to see him."

***

Mycroft lunged at Greg as soon as the door opened, pulling the hungover man into a warm embrace. He buried his nose in his neck, and Greg felt warm tears dripping on his shirt. 

"I love you, Gregory. I'm sorry. I was doubting myself, and I- I didn't want the two of us to get hurt when you leave me for someone else." Mycroft was openly sobbing into Greg's chest. Greg moved them to the sofa, where he pulled Mycroft closer. 

"I'm not going to leave you, not without a fight. I'll only leave if you want me to, because I would do anything to make you happy. I love you, Myc." Greg pressed a kiss into Mycroft's hair and stroked his back. 

The two men lay on the sofa for a long time, trading gentle, sensual kisses until they finally fell asleep in each other's arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	220. Changes (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to write a bit of teen Mira and Koby for VaticanCameos223, but I was talking with Lion_62 and we came up with this. :) 
> 
> I'll try to write some more teen Mira and Koby if you have any ideas.
> 
> Enjoy.

Mira's heart was beating fast as she approached her fathers. She coughed to get their attention. 

"Um, dad? Can you go to the store for me?" She asked as John lowered the paper. 

"Sure. What do you need?" John smiled as he poured the thirteen year-old some tea. He handed her the mug as she sat at the table. 

"Well, it is this-um. I need- They talked about things like this in class." She stumbled over her words until finally falling silent. She was embarrassed, John could tell. 

Behind him, Sherlock huffed. "For bee's sake, John. She hasn't felt well the past few days. She's been having pain in her lower abdomen. She's also been fatigued and her gait differs slightly from normal. Can't you tell that she has started her menstrual cycle? I assume she requires the products in order to manage it. Due to the social taboo of it and the fact that we do not have firsthand experience with such things, she feels embarrassed. Also, I need milk for some bacteria cultures." 

Mira nodded in agreement with Sherlock, blushing even more, but relieved that she didn't have to explain it. 

"Oh. Okay. I'll pop out now." John smiled as he grabbed his keys. "Do you want me to bring Molly or Anthea over to answer any questions for you?" 

Mira shook her head and John pressed a kiss to her curls, then leaned up to kiss Sherlock on the cheek.

"I'll be back in a tic." John smiled as he closed the door. 

Sherlock turned to Mira, then opened one of the top cabinets that John couldn't reach. He pulled out a chocolate bar and tossed it to her. 

"Chocolate has caffeine and releases endorphins. It should help with some of the discomfort. Make sure to drink water too. Stay hydrated." 

Mira smiled, her eyebrow quirked as she pulled a bottle of juice from the fridge. "Thanks dad." She returned to her room, feeling slightly better about the idea of puberty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	221. Brief Encounters (Anthooper)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prepare for the feels trip. 
> 
> Don't hate me. 
> 
> I had to do this.

"Mum?" The child shouted as his eyes searched the park from his place on the ground. Vaughn Hooper-Holmes was an adventurous six year-old who liked to run off when his mother wasn't looking. He was also clumsy and was prone to tripping. 

Which is why he found himself on the ground with a bloody knee and with his mother nowhere in sight. 

Vaughn began crying; his knee hurt. Finally, he saw someone through his tears and ran to her. The woman looked like his mother, only her hair was black and her eyes were pale and iridescent. 

"Mummy?" He whimpered as he wrapped his arms around the woman's waist. 

"Shhh. What's wrong, sweetie?" The woman replied, her red lips twisted into a concerned frown. She led him to a park bench and sat him beside her. 

"I got an owy on my knee and it hurts and I lost my mum." The boy replied, flinching as the woman pulled a tissue and a bandage from her purse. 

"It's okay. You're glad I always carry supplies in my purse. We'll patch you up and find your mum." She smiled as she cleaned the wound. "What's your name?"

"Vaughn." The boy grinned as he suddenly caught sight of someone in the distance. It was Molly. "There's my mum. Thank you."

Molly was out of breath when she got to them. "Vaughn, what have I told you about running off? You scared me when you weren't there." 

"But mum, I'm fine! This nice lady fixed my owy." The child squirmed as Molly hugged him tightly. 

She turned to the woman. "Thank you. I'm sorry for the inconvenience." 

The woman smiled sadly as she gathered her things. "It wasn't any trouble. My son would have been his age." 

"What happened?" Molly asked as Vaughn busied himself with some of the nearby flowers. 

"I couldn't give him a life where he was safe and loved. But, his new parents have taken wonderful care of him, I'm sure. They love him and he loves them." 

Vaughn had returned with a handful of flowers and urged the woman to kneel. He put a flower in her hair and giggled as he pulled her into a hug. She tensed momentarily from shock, but smiled as she pulled away reluctantly. 

"Be good for your mother." The woman said, her voice strained. "No more running off. Okay?"

"Okay!" The child cheered as he took Molly's hand. Molly thanked her again, then left with the boy who kept waving and looking back at her. 

Once they were out of sight, she stumbled to the bench, overcome with emotion. She pulled the flower from her hair, cradling it gently in her hands as tears fell onto the petals. 

She promised to herself that she would press it and place it into the scrapbook beside the picture of her dead husband and herself with her bouncing baby Vaughn. Before she had lost them both, when she was more than just a brief encounter in her son's life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	222. Trying (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holly wanted to see Sherlock trying to care for John. Here you go. :)
> 
> Enjoy. :)

John was still. He sat on the sofa, splayed in Sherlock's usual position. His muscles were tense and his eyes blank. 

Empty. Zombie. Haunted. Shock. 

The words raced across Sherlock's mind as he entered the flat. "John? I solved the case." He smiled as he pressed a kiss to his forehead. 

No response. 

"John?"

Again, the man refused to acknowledge Sherlock. He continued to stare at the ceiling. Sherlock moved to place a hand on his shoulder. John moved away from the touch and turned to face the back of the couch. 

Sherlock sighed, suddenly worried. Something was wrong with John. What did John usually do when Sherlock wasn't himself?

Tea. Sherlock scrambled to make tea for John. He set the mug in front of John, but John paid him no mind. 

What else did John do? He would make sure that he wasn't ill. Sherlock moved close to John, pressing his hand to the man's forehead. No fever. He didn't look ill. 

Sherlock sighed and ran his fingers through John's hair, tugging on them gently. John sighed, then turned over to face Sherlock. 

"What are you doing?" John frowned as Sherlock began stroking John's nose with his fingertips. 

"Trying to make you feel better. You were ignoring me." Sherlock smiled. "I made you tea and made sure that you weren't sick. But it's not working. I'm sorry. I just want to take care of you like you take care of me."

John sighed, sitting up and pulling Sherlock into his arms and taking a sip from the mug of tea. He grimaced at the amount of sugar in it. 

"Sherlock. It's nothing you did. I got lost in my own mind, that's all. It's been a stressful week, with the clinic and everything. Harry relapsed and my dad mailed me. You are the light that pulls me through all of those things."

John pressed a kiss to his curls and rested his head on Sherlock's shoulder. "Let's go to bed. I need a cuddle and some sleep. You can make breakfast in the morning, if you want."

***

That next morning, John awoke to an empty bed. He found Sherlock in the kitchen, attempting to make...they looked like eggs. If eggs were brown and charred. Tea was already waiting for him and it was, again, sweet enough for a hive of bees to have a field day. He surreptitiously poured it into the sink and made himself another. 

Sherlock beamed at him as he ate every last bite of the charcoal eggs on his plate. For him, John would do anything. And John knew that Sherlock would do the same. Well, he would at least try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	223. Chapter 223

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut. Silly smut, and the second post of the day!
> 
> This prompt was inspired by 221Bee. I've listed the prompt link in the body. 
> 
> Enjoy. :)

[Prompt Link](http://221bee.tumblr.com/post/119136500768)

John moaned as he attempted thrust up into Sherlock's tight heat. John was laid on the bed, handcuffed to the headboard as Sherlock rode him at a painstakingly slow pace. 

John felt so hot. He was so close, so close to the edge. Pleasure was coursing through his body; he felt like a tightly strung cord that was going to snap. 

If only Sherlock, the otherwise most impatient man on the planet, would pick up the damned pace. 

"God, Sherlock. Please." John pleaded as Sherlock stopped his ministrations as his mobile chimed. 

Sherlock reached for it on the bedside table as John groaned again from frustration. Sherlock returned to his place on John's lap, John's cock buried deep inside of him. 

"Sherlock." John groaned. 

"Busy." The man replied as he typed out a message.

"Sherlock. I am handcuffed to our bed with my cock up your arse. Get off of your mobile and ride me." 

"I already solved it." Sherlock huffed, glaring at John as he threw his phone onto the bed. 

Suddenly, he had increased the pace, grinding his hips into John's, and John was screaming. Sherlock whimpered and came soon after and collapsed onto John's chest after uncuffing him. 

"You are bloody brilliant. Unbelievable, but nonetheless brilliant." John smiled as he pressed a kiss to Sherlock's crown. 

"It was only a three." Sherlock murmured, suddenly tired. 

"I love you so much." John's words were met with a light snore from the detective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	224. Lust (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is part 1 of 2, and was suggested by IceCream3131. 
> 
> Enjoy.

John walked into the flat and immediately removed his jumper. His last patient of the day had been brought in by a worried mother. Fortunately, it was just a stomach bug. Unfortunately, he'd had to get on the tube while covered in the child's barf because he didn't have any spare clothes at the clinic and everyone else had left. 

He threw the clothing article on the ground, then proceeded to find a bin bag so that he could disinfect it. After bagging it and washing his hands thoroughly, he started the tea and found that he was under the curious gaze of one Sherlock Holmes. 

Sherlock was in his own chair and on John's laptop. As soon as he noticed that John had noticed him, he huffed and returned to his work. After a few minutes, Sherlock slammed the laptop shut and disappeared into his room, leaving behind a very confused John. 

***

John without a jumper. It made his blood boil. Did John not realize the injustice of those jumpers? Sure, he had lost the muscle definition of an army man, but he was still fit. Oh how Sherlock longed to get his hands on that man. What would make him sigh in pleasure? What would make him cry out Sherlock's name whilst in the throes of passion?

Sherlock knew he had a crush on John. No, not a crush. He was in love with John, with his personality and his smile and the way he cared for others, especially Sherlock, so much. Now, there was a new emotion. 

Lust. Pure, unadulterated lust. It made Sherlock's head spin and his trousers tight. And now he had seen what had been a mere image in his fantasies, something, someone, that he could never have. Someone who would never want him. Still, the image, as were all images of John, was committed to memory and he fled the room.

God, he was so fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	225. Drunk (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, here is the second installment of IceCream3131's prompt. 
> 
> Enjoy. :)
> 
> (And I'm sorry for the poor quality as of late. I just haven't felt the motivation to write. It's not you all; I always love your comments. I'm just going through some major life changes and my mental health hasn't adapted yet. I just really wanted to let you all know.)

Sherlock was drunk. He'd had two glasses of some sort of alcohol (he couldn't remember) and, being the lightweight that he was, he was extremely intoxicated. 

Not only was he intoxicated, he was drinking alongside his slightly-more sober flatmate who he may or may not be in love with. Wonderful. 

"Why have you been avoiding me?" John slurred as he poured more liquid into his glass. "You haven't stayed in the same room as me for longer than necessary for the past week and then you leave with this cute red blush. 't's adorable."

"I haven't been avoiding you." Sherlock blushed as John handed him the bottle, their fingers brushing. 

"What did I do?" John sighed. "I thought we were great. Did I screw this up like I do everything else?"

"John, it wasn't your fault." Sherlock stood and stumbled to John's side. "I just didn't know how to process it, being in love with you. You and your caring, but dangerous nature and those bloody jumpers. I want to burn them."

The two men froze as the words sank in. "You...are jealous...of my jumpers." John laughed, Sherlock joining in too. "More importantly, you love me?"

Sherlock felt like he was going to combust from the look that John gave him. His heart skipped a beat as he leaned forward, his eyes on John's mouth. 

"Since the cabbie." Sherlock whispered. 

"You had me at 'Afghanistan or Iraq'." John giggled. 

He closed the distance between them, his mouth hot against Sherlock's. Sherlock could taste the alcohol and the desert from dinner and minty toothpaste. Both of the men groaned as their tongues fought for dominance. They both separated, out of breath and at a draw, their hearts beating wildly. 

"We are drunk. Proceeding with such activities may not be well-advised until we are sober." Sherlock could not hide the stupid grin on his face. "Come to bed with me, John Watson? Just to sleep."

John did not need to be asked twice.

***

Sherlock awoke with a pounding head and a warm body pressed against his back. The momentary confusion gave way to delight as he realized that John had returned his feelings. 

Sherlock turned in John's arms and realized that he was being watched. 

John's blue eyes stood out against the muted morning rays of light. Everything had a golden hue, giving the moment an ethereal, dream-like quality. 

"I love you too." John smiled as he stroked Sherlock's cheek with his calloused fingers. "I didn't say it, so I'm saying it now."

"I love you so much. It was unbearable. I wanted to rip those jumpers off of you." Sherlock murmured as he closed his eyes at the touch. 

"Well, now you can." John laughed as he kissed him gently. "I'm yours. You don't need to be jealous of jumpers or women or any other things that you can think of because you have my heart." 

"And you have mine." Sherlock grinned as their stomachs rumbled simultaneously. "Breakfast?"

"Starving."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	226. Sunshine (Mystrade)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Lion_62 suggested something with Koby's origins and this is what my mind created. I'll just leave this here. 
> 
> Enjoy. :)
> 
> Thank you all for the wonderful messages. I love all of you. I'm really behind on the chapters, so this might not be finished on Dec. 31, but I'll still continue this until I reach 365. (And I might continue to add chapters after that if any ideas hit me.)

Eliza Dunn looked at the phone, the text message she had sent. It was over now, and she was all alone. Well, she thought as she ran a hand over her stomach, not for long. Just seven more months. 

And six months, three weeks later, a tiny, but healthy girl was born with her father's big brown eyes and her mother's nose. As Eliza held her baby, she felt a warmth in her chest. For once in her life, she felt happy. She wasn't alone anymore. 

She sighed the birth certificate. Koby Elliot Dunn. Child of one Elizabeth Dunn and one Gregory Lestrade. 

***

After the first few days, boxes began appearing on her doorstep. Formula, clothes, nappies, binkies, one hypoallergenic stuffed dinosaur that the infant instantly took to. Eliza was confused, but she accepted the gifts. Her salary was not the greatest and she would need to return soon, but now, she spent time with her own personal sun. 

Then the man appeared on her doorstep. He was posh, and his suit looked like it cost more than her rent for the year. 

"I want her to have a good life." He said as the infant began crying. "He doesn't know, about me or about her, but I care for him and, by extension, his child and her mother. Please, let me help you."

She had been skeptical at first, but he had given her space and time to think. She thought of the baby who was sleeping in her crib. She would be safe, taken care of. Eliza agreed, on the condition that she still worked. Even if the money just went to groceries or clothes, she didn't want to be entirely dependent. 

The two adults developed a friendship of sorts. The man would bring take-away and they would chat or watch movies. They spoke of the man they had in common and conversation flowed well. Sometimes, he would watch the infant while she worked. 

On more than one occasion, she came home to find the man asleep on her sofa with an arm wrapped protectively around the sleeping child. She took multiple photos. 

Koby's first word was "Mama" and the second was "My". The man caught her first steps towards her mother on video. The child thought of him as a father. 

He continued to visit as she grew, but the visits were more and more spaced. Work became more stressful, and he was trying to work up the courage to pursue one DI. 

Eliza was still the happiest she had ever been, but she felt empty. Her child was healthy, yes, but she missed the adult interaction. Still...

***

The last time Mycroft saw her, it was after a visit to the doctor. Terminal. Inoperable. A year max. Eliza broke down on his shoulder. She made him promise to take care of her when she was gone. 

Koby was three.

***

"Do I know you?" The child asked as she tugged on his black suit leg. Her hand was still speckled with the dirt from the burial. She clutched a stuffed dinosaur. 

"Maybe." Mycroft smiled as he extended his hand to the child. "Mycroft Holmes. I'm your father's partner."

The child looked at him, confused, before turning to look for her new father, who was talking to the gravestone. She continued to hold onto his leg until he finally lifted her in his arms. She rested her head on his shoulder and was soon asleep. The day had been rough. 

Overhead, the normally dreary London sky opened to reveal the bright mid-day sun. Mycroft let the sunshine fall on his face, and he felt happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	227. 10 Years (Mystrade)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here's some Mystrade fluff. :)
> 
> Enjoy. :)

Koby heard the sound of music softly playing from downstairs. She glanced at the clock. Almost midnight. Why was there music?

Grabbing her camera (she always had it on her), she tiptoed down the staircase. The music got louder as she approached the sitting room. 

Her fathers held each other in a warm embrace as they swayed softly to the music. Mycroft's lips were pressed to Greg's forehead and only separated so that he could stare lovingly at his husband. 

Mycroft stroked his cheek gently before pulling him into a long, slow kiss. Fingers intertwined and wine-laced lips mingled, all to the gentle sway of the music. 

Koby marveled at the intimate moment and quickly snapped a photo. She crept silently up the stairs as her fathers continued to sway. 

"Happy Anniversary, Mycroft." Greg murmured. "I can't believe we've been married for a year. I love you so much."

"I love you too."

***

"Happy Anniversary, Myc and Greg!" Koby said as she pressed the photo album into her parents' hands. 

Koby beamed as she took her seat beside Mira and Vaughn. Everyone had gathered to celebrate the couple's tenth anniversary and they were now passing them gifts. 

Greg and Mycroft looked at each other before opening to the pictures of years long past. There was their wedding photo, and the ones from Sherlock and John's wedding and from Anthea and Molly's courthouse ceremony. Photos filled the pages and, on the last two pages, nine photos held the two men. 

Though their hair had greyed and the bottles of wine changed, the two men were always embraced and the look of pure love never faltered. 

Smiling, Greg pulled Mycroft to his feet and into an embrace as Koby raised her camera. 

This photo was similar to the others, yet it was vastly different. The smiling faces of family members were in the background, and Mycroft and Greg's eyes were both aimed at the camera. 

And, if one examined the photo closely, the faint trace of tears of joy in the men's eyes could be seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	228. Fanfiction (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What it says on the tin. :)
> 
> I'll fix it. :)
> 
> Enjoy.

John scanned the flat has he entered. No sign of Sherlock. Good. He let out a sigh as he located his laptop and typed in his password. 

stopchangingmypasswordSherlock

Incorrect password. 

nopeyouareanidiot

The computer went to John's home screen. Damn the detective. He sighed and opened a private window. Oh if Sherlock knew what he was doing...

He typed into the search bar. 

Sherlock Holmes/John Watson 

And he clicked the first website. 

***

Time had slipped by as John got involved with a 50,00 word work. But God, it was so well written. The dedication of their fans was unimaginable. John knew Sherlock was internationally popular, but he didn't know that their fanbase was that strong. 

Some wrote of Sherlock and him as parents and the struggles that they faced with a child and the Work. Others were just drabbles, which first kisses and cuddles at night. Some, when he dared to venture, were so hot that he found himself with a throbbing erection and the urge to act them out. 

But, the actual relationship between them was platonic. 

John found himself wanting Sherlock more and more, like an itch he couldn't scratch. The works quenched the flame momentarily, but the desire returned ten-fold. He was reaching a breaking point, but he couldn't bring himself to stop. He wanted the Sherlock in those wonderful world of fiction. He wanted the jealousy and the misunderstanding, the casual touches that morphed into something more and the madness of the confession, the hot, steamy nights and the slow, sensual mornings. Most of all, he wanted Sherlock to be his and only his. 

"What are you reading?" Sherlock said as he rested a chin on John's shoulder and glanced at the screen. 

John jumped, startled, and his laptop slipped from his lap. It clattered shut as John tried to calm the sudden spike of adrenaline in his system. Sherlock had snuck up on him? How had that even happened?

"You were rather absorbed." Sherlock sighed as he handed John an empty mug. "Tea?"

John sighed, smiling at the man, before going to put the kettle on. When he returned, Sherlock was sitting in his spot, scrolling on John's laptop. 

The page was still on the fanfiction site. 

Shit. 

"You know, John, this fic is quite nice, but I have some recommendations that may be more to your-" 

John was gone before he could hear Sherlock. He slammed his bedroom door shut, locking it. He felt himself blushing from the shame and the embarrassment. 

Sherlock knew that John liked him now, that John liked to read works of fiction about the two of them. Oh god, what had he done?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	229. Or A Fan of His Fiction (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! An update! Sorry, I've been really busy. I moved into my dorm and had to do all of that stuff and I haven't had any time to sleep or write and ugh. The Internet here is absolutely horrible, so if I don't post for a few days, I either am drowning in college work or I am unable to connect. 
> 
> So yeah, my classes start Monday. Again, I will update when I can, but I won't be finished by the New Year. 
> 
> Well, enjoy! (Also, I love ideas and prompts...)

"John?" Sherlock said from John's doorway for the third time. John laid with his back to Sherlock and tensed as he sensed the man coming closer. 

"Go away." John sighed. "You're the genius. You should know what's going on."

Sherlock only moved closer. He stopped when he stood in front of John's face, and he placed a paper on John's pillow. 

They were a list of works, all by the same author. It was one of his favorite authors because his characterization was always on point. And they usually contained the sweet, fluffy smut that John liked. 

He looked at Sherlock, confused. 

"My works, John." Sherlock coughed. "Contrary to popular belief, I can, in fact, write. Fanfiction, as you would call it. I find that I can express my feelings without verbalizing them. I can simply write them down."

John looked at the titles, then at Sherlock as he processed the information. 

"I've read all of your work on that site. All of them involve you and me...in a loving, functional relationship. No wonder you got the characterization right! I could kiss you." John then tensed, glancing at an also tense Sherlock. "Sorry..."

Sherlock's gaze shifted to a predatory one as his focus became John's lips. "Then do it." He growled. 

John lunged at Sherlock, frantically pressing their lips together heatedly. After they surfaced for oxygen, they broke into giggles and collapsed onto John's bed. 

"We're idiots." John grinned as he traced circles on Sherlock's cheeks, his neck, his lips. 

"I'm not an idiot; you called me a genius." Sherlock moved closer to John and aligned their hips. John's breath caught. 

"I was thinking..." Sherlock whispered into John's ear, sending shivers down John's spine. He moaned lightly when he felt teeth on his lobe. "Why don't we reenact some of my works? I heard that you were my biggest fan."

John pulled him into a heated kiss. "Everything. I want everything from them."

"Your wish is my command."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	230. Fake (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy.

The party was in a full swing by the time that John had arrived. The party was to celebrate the end of finals and, after acing for of his after three all-nighters, John was ready to relax. 

Plus, there were plenty of cute guys and girls who could relax with him. 

There had to be at least 200 people. He had thought it would be smaller, just a few of James' friends and some girls. Not this. 

He sighed and went to go find something to drink.

***

Sherlock was miserable. Absolutely miserable. Mycroft had dragged him along so that he could simultaneously punish Sherlock and flirt with the university's rugby star, Greg Lestrade. Of course. 

So now, Sherlock was fighting off the advances of everyone with legs. They were drunk and he was, as four women and seven men had said to him that night, very handsome. 

He was not interested. 

And the man who was now trying to flirt was too drunk to notice. 

"C'mon. Give me a smile, at least." The man slurred. "You're too handsome not to smile."

"No." Sherlock muttered. And suddenly the man was pinning him to the wall Sherlock had been leaning against. He slid his fingers down his chest and Sherlock felt sick. He tried to fight him, but the man was strong and had his wrists pinned. 

"Hey, wanker. Get away from my boyfriend." A short, angry-looking blond man said. 

The man released Sherlock and turned to the man. "Go get back under your bridge, you troll."

John punched the man in the face, sending the man to the floor in a pool of his own blood. Bystanders stared, and the man quickly took Sherlock's hand and pulled him into a small, empty bedroom. 

"I'm John. Are you okay?" The man said as he extended his hand and tried to catch his breath. 

"I've been better." Sherlock smiled. "Thanks. That man had several STIs. You actually might want to get checked to make sure you aren't infected. He's an alcoholic who still lives with his mother and her five cats because he can't hold down a steady job due to several previous criminal convictions."

John giggled as Sherlock talked. "That's brilliant."

"That's not what they usually say." Sherlock grinned at John's skeptical look. "They usually say 'piss off'."

"So..." John began as he pulled out his mobile to ask for Sherlock's number. He liked this man and felt that they could be friends. "Can I-"

Sherlock yanked the device from John's hand and sent a text to his own phone. "Done. I really must be going though. That jerk might wake up soon." Sherlock opened the door. 

"Wait-." John reached for Sherlock, because he didn't even know his name yet. 

Sherlock leaned forward and pressed a kiss to John's cheek. "The name is Sherlock Holmes. Meet me at 221 Baker Street on Friday. I'll take you to dinner. Who knows, maybe you won't have to be my fake boyfriend."

And then he left, leaving a stunned John. What the hell had just happened?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	231. Lullabye (Johnlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, by some miracle, I have not died from the school work yet. But I'm starting to drown in it, so that's always fun...
> 
> Punk! Parent! Lock. Yay!
> 
> So the song that Sherlock is singing is "Lullabye" by Fall Out Boy. It's from the Folie à Deux album, if you want to check it out. 
> 
> Enjoy. :)

"Sherlock, she won't stop crying!" John sighed as his boyfriend stepped through the door. 

John's breath was taken away, as usual, when he saw the tattoos peeking out from Sherlock's tight black shirt. "How were things at the parlor today?"

"A couple piercings, and Gavin came in to add to the tree on his back. I think it's some of my best work." Sherlock sighed. "It just gets tedious. I miss the excitement, you know? I miss the two of us on your motorcycle, trying to catch fleeting glances of the world passing us by. Now, you're tired. I'll take her." He then smiled as he kissed John on the lips and snatched his crying child. John gave him a tired grin as he left to take a shower. 

Sherlock sat on the sofa and rocked the infant. She was so tiny for a two-month old, but she made up for it in her lung power. 

"Shhh..." Sherlock murmured as a song crossed his mind. It was from a while ago, and he had often used it to soothe himself to sleep when he didn't have John to make his mind slow down. 

Softly, he began singing. "Honey is for bees, silly bear..."

***

John returned from his shower to find Sherlock and Mira on the sofa. Sherlock was singing softly and the child was fast-asleep. 

"You are a magician." He grinned as he pressed a kiss to Sherlock's forehead. "And really, Fall Out Boy? Only our daughter." Sherlock gave him a sarcastic look before standing carefully so that they could put her to bed. Once she was safely in her cradle, Sherlock found John's hands in his hair and hot lips covering his own. 

John pulled away, giggling at his surprise. "Well, you said you missed the excitement. I'd say that we have thirty minutes tops. Let's see how exciting we can get in our old age." 

The two men held hands as they ran down the stairs, softly, and into their bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a massive undertaking for me. If you have a suggestion or a request, I will gladly consider it.
> 
> My email is thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com if you would like to send me any suggestions or comments. :)
> 
> Any errors are mine, as this is neither beta'd nor brit-picked. If you see any problems, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	232. Happy at Last

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Everyone, 
> 
> Long time, no read, yeah? Sorry for dropping off of the face of the earth for a good four months...
> 
> So, I want to update you all on some things. I've been away at college and I have learned some things. I've mainly learned about the extent of my mental capabilities, and that I took on too much of an undertaking when I started this a year ago. I got so caught up in trying to post and to please people that I lost sight of why I even wanted to do this: to have fun and to manage my mental illness. I
> 
> Around July, I began to run out of ideas and this work became too stressful to manage. It ended up adding to my anxiety instead of helping it, and I needed to step back from it. I want to continue writing, and I want to expand to other fandoms, but I feel like this work would be hanging over my head if I started doing that. I can already see my perfectionism telling me to finish this, that I need to give something to the readers. 
> 
> For this reason, I am deciding to end this work here, with one last post. It's a New Year, and I want to start it right.
> 
> Regarding my mental well-being, I am working on it. I've had some advances and some setbacks, but I'm trying to manage the best I can. 
> 
> I want to thank all of you who have supported me and who have supported this work, either from the beginning or from after I stopped posting. I am very grateful to you all for encouraging me and just being there. I love you all. 
> 
> So, without further ado, the last post...

A light snow fell outside of the small flat in London. On a door that read 221 Baker Street, in flat B, a giant family gathered around the fire as the television counted down to midnight. 

"Oh, it looks like all of the little ones just couldn't stay up!" Martha Hudson whispers to her new husband, Angelo, who laughs heartily. Two little girls sit in a worn chair, hugging each other in their sleep. Between them, a little boy, barely three, drools lightly onto the shoulder of the raven-haired girl. All of the adults in the room smile to themselves, and a small, but sturdy former military doctor snaps a photo of them with his phone camera. John texts everyone the photo before returning to his husband's side on the sofa. 

"Should we put them to bed?" Sherlock whispers into John's ear, sending a shiver down his spine as hot breath ghosts over his ear. 

"Greg, Molly, we can watch the kids tonight, if you all want some time to yourselves. Mira's bed is big enough for Koby, and we can put Vaughn in our room." John smiled as he took a sip from his wine. Molly and Anthea declined the offer, but Mycroft and Greg, who both have work in the morning, agree. 

John and Sherlock smile and move the children, who are thankfully heavy sleepers. Vaughn is given to his mothers, who are sitting on the other end of the sofa, and Mira and Koby are carried up the stairs. "Hurry back, you two!" Greg hisses, "You'll miss the countdown."

John simply winks at Greg and follows Sherlock.

***

Sherlock sits on the edge of the bed, gently carding his fingers through his daughter's hair. John smiles in the darkness and kisses his husband on the forehead. "Thank you so much, John." Sherlock whispers as he takes John's hand, pressing it to his face. John's fingers dance across his skin, causing a warmth to rise in his chest. A faint sound of chanting was heard downstairs.

Ten!

"Ten years ago, I thought I was going to die in a gutter somewhere."

Nine!

"I never imagined...this."

Eight!

"A daughter, a family, hope...love." 

Seven! 

"I'm so happy, John. After years of misery, of being a freak," 

Six!

"I finally feel accepted, loved." 

Five! 

"I can speak with my brother and sister on good terms..." 

Four! 

"and I have people who care for me." 

Three! Two! 

"Most of all, I have you." 

One!

Then Sherlock found himself being pulled into a kiss. John's hands were on his hips, steadying him. His heart swelled as his lips met those of his husband. They stood there, embraced, time seeming to stand still. In the illumination from the moon through the window, Sherlock saw the gentle, warm expression on John's face. He reached out to stroke John's cheek as they separated. His cheeks were wet with tears. Sherlock checked his own to find that he too had been crying. 

"I love you too, Sherlock." John smiled as he pressed a kiss to his husband's forehead, running his fingers through the man's curls. "Happy New Year."

"Happy New Year!" came the voices from downstairs. 

"And to many more." Sherlock murmured as he fell into his husband's embrace.

***

Yes, everyone in the 221 Baker Street family was happy. 

Later that night, an older woman stood under the mistletoe that was hanging on the door of 221 A, kissing her husband gently before they retired to have their own, explosive New Year's celebration.

Later that night, a detective inspector and a "minor" government official were caught by CCTV cameras. They were kissing under a street lamp, under the cover of an umbrella, of course, as the snow flakes coated the London streets. An photo of the scene appeared on the desk of one Mycroft Holmes that next morning and was promptly put into a photo album that contained similar photos of the happy couple. 

Later that night, a forensic pathologist and the assistant of the "minor" government official were found to be curled up on their own sofa in their own flat, occasionally drinking hot cocoa. Their son lay asleep on the pathologist's chest as her girlfriend ran her fingers through Molly's hair and read aloud from Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. Because, why not?

Later that night, a former military doctor and the world's only consulting detective held each other tight, like the first time they held each other. As the detective rested his head on the doctor's chest, drifting off to sleep, he murmured something. John kissed the man's curls, soothing him to sleep, but he had to smile at his lover's words.

Happy at Last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thank you all so much for reading. I love all of you. (But especially Lion_62. Sorry for not responding. I'll try to stay in contact with you with the new messaging system on tumblr though.)
> 
> If you want to say "hi!" or talk headcanons to me, you can find me at alextheanthropologist on tumblr or at thatweirdfangirl16@gmail.com
> 
> Until the next time...bye!
> 
> Also, HAPPY NEW YEAR, EVERYONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


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